


I'll Go First

by jawsandbones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A proper redemption arc too, As slow burn as I can make it in 10 chapters, Blind Character, Blind Inquisitor, Canon is only loosely abided, Character Growth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fixing plot holes as best I can, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Tenderness, Updates every tuesday at 8pm EST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:59:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: An unexpected leader, unlikely allies. Bound by the Breach, trying to hold all of Thedas together. Thankfully, the Inquisitor doesn’t stand alone. Blind, but not without strange sight, Alexi Trevelyan makes his mark.---“On your feet, Trevelyan,” Vivienne tells him, “we’re not done here yet.” In his dark, her magic is such a bright thing. From a well of royal purple bursts free white arcing lightning, a chain that links the broken Templars in pain. They played such theatre in the courtyard – showed them ones yet untouched. Now he sees it clearly, in these. That which cracks at their center, the poison in their veins. Red lyrium. Cassandra and Barris work their way around the room, block the exit. Sera keeps them pinned. Vivienne makes them weak, and Alexi keeps his team healed, and strong. Denam makes the mistake of thinking him an easy target.





	1. Clouded Was Every Prospect

“The Elder One is coming.” At the sound of those words Templar turns blade against Templar. Cassandra kicks the table forward, papers and candles spilling onto the floor, and Denam stumbles back. Alexi grabs Lord Abernache by the collar, and means to drag him behind the table. The arrow takes him before he can. Opening his arms, catching the Lord as he falls, gently going to the ground with him. The battle screams around them. Without raising his head, he keeps Cassandra protected. The spell at her back, in her bones. His magic slips around Sera, fills her lungs with better breath. Alexi takes the mask from Abernache’s face, the arrow from his temple. He closes his eyes for him.

“On your feet, Trevelyan,” Vivienne tells him, “we’re not done here yet.” In his dark, her magic is such a bright thing. From a well of royal purple bursts free white arcing lightning, a chain that links the broken Templars in pain. They played such theatre in the courtyard – showed them ones yet untouched. Now he sees it clearly, in these. That which cracks at their center, the poison in their veins. Red lyrium. Cassandra and Barris work their way around the room, block the exit. Sera keeps them pinned. Vivienne makes them weak, and Alexi keeps his team healed, and strong. Denam makes the mistake of thinking him an easy target.

Sword meets staff, and the bells at the head of it softly chime, unaware of the violence they are a part of. “No one shall leave Therinfal who is not stained red. I will bring you to the Elder One and he will reward me,” Denam hisses. Shapes of color in the darkness, and this one, cracked so deeply red.

“Tell me who the Elder One is,” Alexi says, “and I’ll do what I can to help free you from him.”

“This is your fault,” Denam says, pushing Alexi back, moving to swing forth once again. His hand tips back to his temple, a focus of will, and he pushes it outwards with a simple flick. The boom, and Denam shouts as he stumbles back, his ears ringing with what Alexi has done to him. At the sound, Cassandra turns her attention towards him. Pulling her sword from one, she moves in defense of Alexi, and plants herself before him.

“We need answers. We need him alive,” he tells her. The most minute of nods.

“Alive? He hardly deserves our charity,” Vivienne says, her lip curling in disgust. The staff twirls in her hands, shards of ice at every turn, keeping the other Templars at bay. She makes them easy for Sera to shove an arrow into, for Barris to follow through. After casting her barrage of spells, Vivienne taps her staff once, twice, against the floor. It’s a charm without magic, signaling the end of the fight. She does it just as Cassandra batters Denam’s skull with her shield, and sends him clattering down in a heap.

Sera steps over a fallen Templar, plucks the arrow from his face, and continues on. Barris is standing over Denam, wide eyed as he looks at his Captain, and then to the Herald. Nestled in his arms, leaning against him, is his staff. Some long, gnarled thing, twisted and old. The place where he holds it is worn, well loved. Around the curled knot, twine. Bells and trinkets, crystals and charms. Dried lavender, other herbs, around the stem. Long robes, a sweater underneath, gloves and a scarf. This is the one who will save them?

Alexi leans easily against his staff, and pulls his robes tighter. His magic sweeps, finds the echo of the room they stand in. He takes stock of those around him. Vivienne, still royal. Sera, the brightest yellow. Cassandra remains a steady green. They are all uninjured, but for Barris, who carries a hurt Alexi can’t quite heal. The blue inside him wavers, put off balance by the betrayal of his brothers. All of these colors are overshadowed by the red that screams around the edges of the felled Templars. “Are the other Templars changed somehow? Physically?” Alexi asks. As he speaks, he looks no one in the face. Instead he speaks nearest to where he thinks they are. Barris realizes that his eyes are not merely a dark brown as he first thought, but darkened completely.

“It’s true then. The Herald of Andraste is indeed blind,” he says. While they speak, Sera is rooting around Denam’s body, through his pouches and pockets. With a sweeping grin, she triumphantly pulls out a key, and places it into Cassandra’s waiting palm.

“I am, although that doesn’t answer my question.” Alexi smiles, even as Barris balks.

“They are indeed malformed and quite monstrous now. I would wager we will see worse further in. It will be curious to see how larger doses affect them,” Vivienne says. The smallest changes, in these. They sent their most human to the front lines. Growths on their body, discoloration in their skin. It would be prudent to take a sample back for study. Perhaps even more prudent to simply burn Therinfal to the ground.

“Curious?” A knot between Barris’s brows, “they’ve been poisoning us!” The frustration is clear in his every word, in the strained knuckles that hold his sword. Doubtful he’d turn it against him, but they aren’t gaining his trust as they are now. Vivienne carries her staff lightly as she walks to the door, holds it open.

“We should really go ask the Lord Seeker as to why he’s done this, hmm?” She says, with a glance down the waiting hallway. Alexi puts a hand on Barris’s shoulder. He lets the magic seep through his palm, sink inside him, and soothe the twisted places inside of him. Steady that wounded blue, press ease against the question.

“The only way to help them is to fight back,” Alexi tells him. Another small smile as he pats his shoulder, before going to join the rest. Another glance at Denam, and his grip tightens on the hilt once more. A second thought, and Barris sheaths it, follows after the others. In the empty hallway, they can hear the fighting echoing all around them.

“So this is pretty shite,” Sera says as she links her hands behind her head, kicks a stone out of her way. “Meant to be protecting us from the baddies and now they’re the baddies. No offence.” Leading the pack beside Cassandra, Vivienne rolls her eyes. Barris stares at her back, and beside him, Alexi chuckles under his breath. Opening the door to the courtyard, and the fight spills towards them. Archers, on raised structures. Screaming warriors, beneath them. They meet them head on.

Alexi blankets the barrier over each one of them, the aura of his very magic strengthening their resolve. He and Sera focus fire on the archers, while the others take care of the rest. An echo, and there, the bright stain to which Alexi directs his spell. Casting out the echo again, and there, behind a box shaped object. “Show me what you are!” At the sudden distorted voice, Alexi turns.

“Was that the Lord Seeker?” He asks.

“Didn’t hear nuthin’!” An echo, and nothing in the range of it. Shaking his head, they move onwards. Templar fights Templar, and the pleas from those untainted go unanswered. They help where they can, and leave ruin behind them.

“On the left, that’s the Knight Captain’s quarters,” Barris says. Cassandra plucks the key from her pocket and puts it to good use. Turning the lock, the door creaks as it opens. Immediately, they’re hit with the smell of a long rotting corpse. Sera gags, makes a face and walks away. 

“That’s the Knight-Vigilant,” Barris says as they walk past the body, “the Lord Seeker told us he died at the Conclave!”

“Then the Lord Seeker is either a fool or a liar,” Vivienne says as she walks up the steps to where the desk is. Moving papers aside, briefly glancing at each one.

“Was the Knight-Captain hiding the body for the Lord Seeker? Did he kill the man himself?” Barris still remembers the way Denam was. Welcoming each new recruit, happy to show them around and answer any question they may have. That man was not capable of… this. “Maker, what’s happening to the Order?” Standing outside with Sera, Alexi finds the rest of the Templars. Huddled in a group, standing close together as if they fear to be apart.

“Are you injured?” Alexi asks as he approaches. He keeps his magic close to himself. The last thing they need is unwelcome magic lighting the fuse to the powder keg. “I would like to help, if you’d let me.” They exchange glances with one another. Finally, one sighs.

“Appreciated, Herald.” Permission in those words and Alexi puts his hand on the nearest arm. He remembers the first days, when he struggled with healing. Difficulty in pinpointing a wound, finding the damage in the hurt, applying the right amount of magic to heal and not to flood the system with it. Now, it’s almost as easy as breathing. Moving from one to the next, and they offer their hands to him, hands he takes gladly.

“They’re still searching the office,” Barris says as he joins him. The other Templars sit a little straighter, stand a little taller in Barris’s presence, although Alexi isn’t sure if he notices. His mind is elsewhere. “If I might ask, how did you – how did you become the Herald?”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Alexi says, warmth in his fingertips, the palm of his hand, putting it into the Templar who shivers. “Once my Circle began to rebel, a few friends and I fled. We were never fighters.” He takes his hands back, rubs one over the other. That other hand is trembling, shaking, cracked and raw from the mark on his palm. He can see it, of a sort. Some bright and shining thing, a beacon in the dark. Green smoke that rises from his skin, envelopes his hand, hungry and malicious. He keeps his other hand clamped over it, but it does nothing. It remains, always, at the edge of his vision.

“News of the Conclave reached us, and we thought it would be safe there. We went to plead with the Divine to save us,” he says, reaching upwards, fingers touching the side of his nose, moving underneath his eye. “While we were there we tended to the sick, and the injured. There was a fair bit of noise when the Divine finally arrived. The next thing I remember, I was waking up in Haven and being told that I had fallen out of the Fade. With this.” He holds out his hand in front of him. Curious Templars huddle around him, looking at the jagged scar at the center of his palm. He isn’t sure what they see. He only knows what he feels. What he feels is that it might swallow him whole.

“I’m doing what I can to seal the Rifts and the Breach. The people at Haven named me the Herald. They believe I was the right person, in the right place, at the right time.” He closes his hand into a fist. “I want to be that person,” he says.

“I need more.” Alexi whirls, and casts out his echo. It was as though the voice spoke right by his year, and yet, nothing. It affirms it for him. Something larger than red lyrium at work here. Barris is on the verge of speaking, until Cassandra and Vivienne make their way out of the office. They close the door behind them and Vivienne is turning a letter in her hands.

“The Lord Seeker lured the Templars here. Perhaps he might be able to explain this madness,” she says. She pockets the letter, having no doubt that it will be useful later. Particularly in the judgement of Denam.

“He has much to answer for,” Cassandra says. Looking around at the Redoubt and putting aside her horror of the Red Templars, all she feels is profound disappointment.

“Then let’s go ask our questions,” Alexi says.

“We’re with you, Herald,” that same Templar who had given permission, rising to her feet, putting a hand on the hilt of her sword. The others follow suit. Together, they make their way towards the main hall. Rain drops fall sparingly, bounce off of armor. Stairs upon stairs, and Alexi throws out his hand.

“Wait,” he says. Cassandra immediately stops, goes down a stair as she watches him pass her.

“Herald of Andraste! It’s time we became better acquainted!” The corrupted voice once again, low and rumbling, malicious in its intent. “What do you hope to accomplish? What will you become?” Coming from ahead of him, and there’s something in his dark. Casting out his echo, and it’s a hazy fog in front of the doors. It swirls, turns to face him. “At last.” Spoken in a whisper, and that fog reaches out, takes him by the throat. 

Whispers all about him, and everything in this place feels the same. A hesitant step forward, using the staff in his hands to find his way forward. His echo bounces off everything, and gives him nothing in return. He can hear what might be fire, but as his hand drifts near it, he feels no heat. He stops when he nears two figures in the nothing, made of the same fog as the creature that pulled him here. Two? No. Three. One walking up between them.

“I want to know you Herald. All you are. Everything you could be,” spoken from the dark. Leliana’s voice, corrupted. The other two figures must be Cullen and Josephine then.

“What use is there in copying me?” He asks. The fog throws itself together, back into one, seems to rage at the question.

“What use is there?” Cullen’s voice, and the fog stands very near him. “Do you know what the Inquisition can become? The Elder One will kill you, and ascend. And I will be you.” Alexi steps away from the thing that isn’t Cullen, frowns at the threat. It reaches out, takes him by the arm, and holds him close. “Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you think. Tell me what you see – except you can’t, can’t you? I will fix that, when I am you.”

“There is nothing about me that needs fixing. Except, perhaps, to leave here. Would you tell me about the Elder One before I go?” Alexi asks.

“The Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else. By dying in the right way,” it says. Disappearing in a rush, and Alexi sighs. If this were any other dream, he’d force himself to wake up. This is some waking beast, however, and he keeps his staff in front of him as he moves forward. It will want him to move forward, to experience different things. Alexi forces himself to keep his movements the same, his expression neutral.

Voices, in the dark. “The Inquisition’s power rivals any kingdom.”

“Our reach begins to match my ambition,” spoken in Alexi’s own voice, that corrupted undertone. “But I will strive for more.” Alexi says nothing, keeps walking.

“Wait.” A different voice, and this is something bright, something true. Alexi smiles as he steps towards it, these steps more confident than the last. Reaching towards the spirit, and his hand passes through it. “Envy wants to hurt you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help! You! Not Envy.”

“Who are you?” Alexi asks.

“I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Or, I am, you’re always inside you. It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping, I hope. I saw Envy take you, and I reached out – found myself here, inside, with. I was watching.” The spirit flashes, flickers, seeks to be in all parts at once, until Alexi reaches out and takes his hand. His touch seems to root Cole, keep him steady and keep him still. Cole shyly holds his hand in return.

“Thank you Cole. I appreciate your help. Do you know the way out of here? I need to get back to my friends,” he says. 

“All of this is Envy. Making it of himself, places, people. If you keep going, Envy stretches, it takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard, too many and Envy breaks,” Cole tells him.

“Then we should keep moving. Are you coming with me? I could use a guide. Everything is too muddy for me here,” he says.

“Yes! Eyes in the dark,” he says. Holding Alexi’s hand tight as he breaks into a jog, pulling him along. “This way.” More voices, Cassandra, Rodrick. None of it matters. Cole guides him past it all, and Alexi hears a door open. He hears his own voice order Giselle to the gallows. None of it matters. Further onward still. They call the Herald tyrant, betrayer, warmonger. Cursing his name, his every step. None of it matters. “We keep going up. You’re more you there than Envy, and that tires it out.” Up and up and up. Hand tight in hand, guiding him over the obstacles in his path. What seems to be bark, some mockery of a fallen tree. The sound of grass under his feet, cicadas in the distance.

Moving back onto stone, the feeling of outside air. “Unfair.” The fog forms stronger here, and Alexi knows that shape. His shape. “Unfair! That thing kept you whole! Kept me from knowing you!” Instinctively, Alexi puts himself in front of Cole.

“It’s frightened of you,” Cole whispers to him, half in wonder. A hand, raised to his temple. Gathering his will. A flick, casting it outwards, and Envy yells.

Before him, the door splinters. In the waking world, he knows it clearly. A misshapen shape, full of darkness and misery. Its mouth no longer his, no longer the Lord Seeker’s, but its own. It can only scream, rage, run away. Alexi looks around, casts out his echo, but Cole is gone.

“Lord Seeker! What was that thing?” Barris asks as he walks forward, staring in the direction the demon fled. It’s split the great hall. Templars, taking refuge, now faltering once more at the sudden intrusion upon their sanctuary. All of them stare up at the barrier it’s erected to bar their way. A wall to hide behind.

“An imposter. An Envy demon,” Alexi says. “The Lord Seeker is either caged, or dead. We need to bring that barrier down.”

“It ensured we weren’t prepared. Used red lyrium to corrupt the order. Maker,” Barris says, rubbing the space between his brows. It’s falling apart all over again, right before his eyes. So few Templars left, all looking to Barris for answers. Alexi steps close to him, speaks softly.

“I know. I’m sorry, we can only do one thing at a time. For now, we have to focus on taking down Envy. We can put the Templars back together when we’re done,” he says. The bells on his staff chime slightly, one against the other, and Alexi is looking towards the barrier. Barris’s hand drops back to his side. Squaring his shoulders, looking around the hall at the others.

“Yes, you’re right. We can break that barrier. You! Bring that store of untainted lyrium here. Templars, with me. Mark the area, draw your swords,” he says, taking command. They paint a circle before the barrier, marked in shining lyrium. Blue spilled liquid, smoke rising from its every drop. Barris places himself at the center, while Templars stand around him. Going to one knee, planting the tip of their swords in the lyrium. Both Alexi and Vivienne are stepping back.

The Templars make a void. A place where no magic can stand. It’s an abyss, some empty place, and not even his echo can penetrate it. It begins to swell, move upwards, clawing its way through the barrier. It pokes holes, tears at it, and the barrier falls with merely a whimper. Slowly, the world comes back to itself, color in this place once more. “Barris? Are you alright?” His blue is softened, weakened. The only answer is the Envy demon, perched on the bannister above, screaming down at the weakened Templars.

The magic is instant, ready at his fingertips. Putting the barrier around them all, as Cassandra rushes forward. “Shite! Piss! Ugly!” Arrow after arrow, Sera sends them all flying, aimed towards one single target.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Vivienne says as the lightning webs between her fingers, sparks outwards. The undrained Templars rush at the demon, as Cassandra drags Barris to his feet.

“I can help!” Rushing forward, past him, Alexi watches as bright puts daggers against the fog.

“I should have been you! I should have been you!” Envy is wailing as it swipes at whatever is closest, a dying beast without target. “I should have been you.” By sword and flame, the Templars and Inquisition put the beast down. It shrinks, curls upon itself, twisting and turning, becoming nothing but a lump of hardened stone.

“The demon is dead,” Barris sighs with relief. “We’ve numbers across Thedas, but we let this happen. Our officers either failed to see it or were complicit.” The Templars rally behind their speaker. Cole crosses the room, stands behind Alexi where he thinks no one else can see him. Barris glances over what remains of his order, turns to face the others. “The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.”

“You all stood fast against the demon. You held with valor, and with honor, even though your commanders betrayed you and wanted to strip you of that,” Alexi says as he steps forward, petitions himself in front of them.

“The Order is leaderless,” Barris says.

“Not while you stand,” Alexi tells him. “Together, we can rebuild it. The Inquisition can supply you with whatever you need. Come to Haven. Help us seal the Breach.” Barris turns to the others. A circle of Templars, a nod that works its way around the room.

“The Templars will come. I hope your stronghold is ready,” Barris says.

“We’ll be ready for any willing to throw their hat in with us,” Alexi says, looking back at Cole.

* * *

He pulls his robes tightly around him. Sitting on the step, leaning against the bars of the dungeon. His fingers trace the knots he knows so well, the little markings he’s made on his staff. It’s familiar. It’s the only thing that’s familiar. Everything else that he’s ever known is gone. The last he knew of Ostwick Circle was that it was burning behind him. The Conclave at given them all such hope. His friends. His _family_. They thought they would be safe. He still remembers the horns, marking the Divine’s arrival. Whispers in his ear, telling him of the guards at her side, the way she looked and seemed.

They had gathered so close. They wanted to see. They wanted to be safe. Now they’re all gone. Except for him. Alexi brushes at the tears that run hot down his cheeks. There’s no need to cast out his echo in this place, as he sits, and so he stays in the dark. There were always colors so close to him. Sylvia’s gentle pink. Trevor, in teal. Burning orange from Wyatt. More, so many more, now gone forever.

A weight, on his boot. A paw, against his leg. Climbing up into his lap, and Alexi sniffles back his tears. “Hello,” he says quietly, hoarsely. Reaching down gently, scratching between its ears. The cat begins to purr, rub its face against Alexi’s hand. “Were you lost here too?”

“Trevelyan? Maker’s breath it’s dark down here. I can’t see a thing.” At the sound of the intruding voice, the cat clambers upwards, climbs into the hood of Alexi’s sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Alexi calls out, “I always forget people need light to see.” He picks himself up and off the step, cups his hands together. The mage light forms slowly, and he hears footsteps getting closer.

“It’s alright, I should have brought a candle – are you hurt?” Cullen asks, frowning as he looks at him. The light dims slightly as Alexi raises a hand, swipes at the remaining tears. No doubt his eyes are red-rimmed, cheeks splotchy.

“No, I – I’m fine, I promise,” he says. Cullen is silent for a moment as he studies him. The curling dark hair against olive skin, the birthmarks near his eyes, the one across his lips. He resists the urge to reach out and brush away that one last tear that lingers near his jaw.

“It’s alright if you aren’t. I’ve lost people as well. It isn’t easy,” Cullen says, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder instead. The moment it lands, a paw snakes out, and taps Cullen on the knuckles. “Maker!” Instantly taking his hand back, holding it against his chest. “Is that a cat?”

“He’s my newest friend. I found him, just now,” Alexi says. “Tell me what he looks like.” Cupping his hands once again, and the light swells. Cullen moves around to the back of him, hesitates for a moment before he pulls down the lip of his hood. The cat stares up at him, curled and cozy against Alexi’s back.

“Well, he’s all black except for his paws which are white,” Cullen says as he walks back to stand in front of Alexi. He chuckles under his breath.

“Like little boots. That’s what I’ll call him then. Boots,” he says as he raises a hand to his shoulder. Boots immediately puts his head against it, purrs slightly.

“I hope you weren’t planning on that cat being your only friend,” Cullen says. Alexi smiles, biting his bottom lip, the staff shifting in his arms.

“Would it be bold of me to consider you a friend?”

“Not at all,” Cullen says. “It won’t be the same, but – you can rebuild what you lost.”

“They were family to me,” Alexi says. Cullen’s hand reaches out again, this time not to his shoulder, but to his arm.

“The others will understand if you need more time. I can delay the briefing,” Cullen says. Alexi instantly shakes his head.

“No. No, I’d like to get it over with, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” His hand, slipping away, but – reaching upwards, against Alexi’s jaw for the briefest of moments, taking the tear with him when it goes. Alexi reaches upwards, touches where he had once been. “Shall we go?”

“After you,” Alexi says. Cullen waits for him instead, and they make their way out of Haven’s dungeons, and to the war room, side by side.

“Herald! We can begin,” Josephine says. The letter Vivienne had kept now sits over the map, plainly there for the others to read. Cullen makes his way to the other side of the table, opposite Alexi, briefly touching the letter as he goes.

“What you found in the Captain’s quarters means the officers willingly blighted half their knights with red lyrium,” Cullen says.

“Even _before_ some of them realized the Lord Seeker was replaced by a demon,” Cassandra says, taking her place to stand with Alexi.

“Which put us in a position to demand more from our alliance. You should have consulted us first,” Leliana says as she paces the short wall of the room. 

“I did what I thought was best. The Templars have been bled dry and those who are left helped us defeat Envy,” Alexi says. He can feel Boots shifting in his hood.

“An alliance with the Templars _was_ our desired outcome. May we discuss their imminent arrival?” Josephine says.

“A few dozen veterans are coming ahead of the rest, to help seal the Breach,” Leliana says.

“How soon until they arrive?” Alexi asks. Before any get a chance to answer, he feels a shift in the air. Casting out the echo, smiling as he sees Cole’s shape standing over the table.

“They’re almost here. Templars don’t like to be late,” Cole says. Josephine gasps as she presses herself against a wall, while Cassandra and Cullen instantly draw their swords.

“Wait! Don’t hurt him!” Alexi says. Cole crouches on the table, turns towards him.

“I came with you to help. I would have told you before, but you were busy,” he says.

“Please put the swords away,” Alexi says, putting his hand over Cassandra’s. “Cole is a friend.” He glances in Cullen’s direction. Cullen slowly lowers his sword. Cassandra, on the other hand, takes a different stance.

“Call the guards.” Alexi reaches out towards Cole, pulls him from the table, and keeps him close to him. “This creature is not –” 

“A moment Cassandra,” Leliana says as she looks at him with fascination, “I would like to hear why he came.”

“You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. I want to do that. I can help,” Cole says eagerly.

“Cole saved my life in Therinfal. I couldn’t have defeated Envy without him. I can vouch for him,” Alexi says and Cole seems to smile, as he reaches out, and takes Alexi’s hand. Holding it, the same way he did in his head. “He really is trying to help.”

“I won’t be in the way. I promise I won’t get in the way. Tiny, no trouble, no notice taken unless you want them to,” Cole says. To prove his words, he instantly disappears from sight. Cassandra takes a few steps back, startled, but Leliana laughs.

“I’ll have people watch the boy, but I believe the Herald,” she says. “Let’s not be distracted from the Breach.”

“Yes. When the Templar veterans arrive, they’d most likely want to speak with you,” Cullen says.

“Yes, and I want to speak to them,” Alexi says.

“About?”

“Ground rules. For what will happen when the mages arrive,” Alexi says.

“The mages? I thought we agreed –”

“The Templars can weaken the Breach and the mages can power the mark. We need both to do this for good,” Alexi says. “Whether you approve or not, I’m going back to Redcliffe. We can’t just leave them all there.”


	2. Till Fresh Earth

“With Magisters in Redcliffe, we must take the Templars with us. They can help us manage the situation.” Pressing knuckles against the table, brow furrowed.

“We will win no friends by marching the Templars to the mages stronghold. They are the reason the Tevinters are there in the first place.” Shaking her head, the argument coming easy.

“Alexius was quite clear that there is no taking the mages without his involvement. We need the Templars there to aid us –”

“Cassandra,” Alexi says, in a quiet voice that silences both her and Leliana. “Taking the Templars with us would only be asking for trouble. If we must take someone, I would suggest Barris and perhaps even Cullen. They can be easily explained. No others, and no more than those two, please.” He sits by the door, with Boots in his lap. His staff leans against the wall beside him.

“For the moment, it doesn’t matter. Alexius has locked down Redcliffe, and is keeping the senior mages in the Keep with him. We don’t have the manpower to take the castle, and I doubt they’d simply let us walk in,” Cullen says.

“Quite right. In the letter Alexius sent to us, he asked for the Herald by name, and only the Herald. We can expect from Therinfal that this is a trap. One I am not sure we wish to spring,” Josephine says. Those gathered around the table all look at each other. Cassandra has her fists against the map once again, markers placed around Redcliffe. She stares down at it, as though it might whisper some secret to her. Leliana has her hands clasped behind her back as she leans against the wall, lost in one thought or another. Josephine taps the parchment holding with the tip of her quill, over and over.

Curled up in a small ball, nestled against Alexi’s arm, Boots purrs. Alexi’s other hand moves gently against the cat’s cheek, and he has his head tilted forward, downwards, towards Boots. Lush dark hair curls against his temple, match long dark lashes. Wrapped up in robe and sweater, and despite the staff beside him, he is no typical mage. Cullen inhales deeply as he watches him, lets out a small sigh. “If we send Trevelyan in there, we’ll lose…” he hesitates for a moment, struggling to find the right words, “our only way of closing the Rifts.”

“If we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep. Not to mention the time distortions which are growing worse,” Leliana says.

“Even if we could assault the fortress, we should not,” Josephine says, “An _Orlesian_ Inquisition army,” she punctuates the word with a stab of her quill in the air, “marching into Ferelden would provoke a war.” Cassandra shakes her head as she straightens, tipping one of the markers as she goes.

“The Magister-”

“Has outplayed us,” Cullen says, interrupting her. Boots has paws pressed against Alexi’s shoulders, against his thigh, rubbing his face against his while he strokes a hand down his back.

“I could still go, and meet with Alexius. Maybe we could talk, and come to some arrangement,” Alexi says. The stiff line of Josephine’s shoulders falls, and she rests her board against the table. Crossing the quill across a marked page, and she wrings her hands together.

“Negotiation would be preferable,” she says.

“Alexius is more than likely to capture him and send him to this ‘Elder One’,” Cullen says, turning from her, to Alexi. “You can’t go in there alone. If you do, you’ll die. I won’t allow it.” Not a single hitch or pause in Alexi’s affectionate scratches, but he does bite his bottom lip briefly. Leliana’s hands have moved from her back to cross her arms, a thoughtful finger pressed against her lips. Her eyes suddenly widen as she steps forward away from the wall.

“Josie, do you still have a map of Redcliffe in your office?”

“Yes, but –”

“A moment,” Leliana says, moving around the table, going for the door. Boots is climbing up Alexi’s shoulder, wrapping himself around his neck and becoming a second scarf. Alexi leans forward obediently, prioritizing the cats comfort over his own.

“She’s going to destroy how I have things organized again,” Josephine says, a hand at her temple, the other in a stiff straight fist as she marches after Leliana. Cassandra turns, crosses her arms, and leans against the table. Watching as Boots hops from his shoulders back to his lap, and down to the floor. Slipping out the open door, and alone, Alexi clasps his hands together.

“Are you not frightened of facing the Magister by yourself?” she asks. Alexi smiles softly.

“Terrified,” he says. “But I can’t just leave the mages there, not when I can do something for their situation. You don’t know what they’ve been through.” The smell of smoke and ash, the heat of the flames. Their hands on his arms, his back, guiding him down the stairs, all of them crowding in the corridors. The shouts, the screams, the bright white burst of a Templar silence. Fleeing into the woods with the rest, running without reprieve into the night.

“And you do,” she says. Alexi hums agreement. His hands tighten, white knuckles hidden under his fingerless gloves. A bruising grip, and his leg bounces slightly. They had stayed together, his friends, his family the group of them. Running, hiding, and finally – the Conclave. Safety.

“The Inquisition can help them. _I_ can help them. If I don’t – well, I hope that my heart always outweighs my fear,” he says. Cassandra softens, her shoulders falling. With a sigh, she steps forward, and puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. The bouncing of his leg stops as he looks upwards, towards her. He doesn’t know the expression she’s making, doesn’t see the downturn of her lips, the careful knot between her brows. 

“We will do what we can,” she tells him. They hear the arguing voices before they see them. Leliana holds the map open, playfully out of reach of Josephine who _insists_ it’s going to tear. Fluttering down to the table, and she lays it out smoothly, map over map. All except Alexi huddle around it.

“There is the bridge to the castle, yes,” she says, her finger tapping at parchment, “but this is not the only way inside.” Shifting to a place nearer to the village, tapping at a small image marked ‘windmill’. “There is a secret passage. An escape route for the family. Too small for our troops, but we could send a few agents through.”

“Walking agents through Redcliffe? They’ll be discovered before they can reach the castle,” Cullen says.

“Then we give them a distraction,” Leliana says, stepping back, gesturing with a flourish at Alexi, “the envoy Alexius wants so badly.” The others fall into silence, turn towards him.

“I assume you’re all looking at me,” Alexi says, pointing at himself. “It sounds like a good plan to me. We should find Dorian before we do this. He wanted to help and maybe he can. He knows Alexius better than anyone.”

“I’ll send our agents ahead of you and locate him,” Leliana says. Alexi shakes his head.

“He won’t know them. He’s in hiding from Alexius too. If he sees me, he’s more likely to come and speak to us,” he says. Josephine is rolling up the map, tucking it underneath her arm, safely away from Leliana. Cassandra shifts from one foot to the other as Leliana taps fingertips against the table.

“I’ll make the arrangements, and select the agents I would like to send. If we’re agreed?” A nod, from every one of them. Alexi reaches out, a hand wrapping around his staff as he rises to his feet. Cassandra and Leliana leave, while he goes to stand before Josephine. Awkwardly towering over her, he keeps his hands around his staff, hunches his shoulders.

“What can I do for you Herald?” she asks.

“I know you have a lot to do, but I was wondering if there was a way we could help the refugees. Mother Giselle said they need food, shelter, and a great deal of medicine. Perhaps even I could go back after dealing with Alexius to help them,” he says.

“If you can convince Cassandra,” she says with a smile. As if he can sense it, he smiles as well.

“Yes.”

“Our resources are stretched thin as it is,” she says, to a flash of disappointment that makes its way across his face, “but I’ll see what I can do.” Instantly brightening, standing taller.

“Thank you Josephine.” Alexi allows his staff guide him as he leaves. The end of it running over stone, carefully placed in the Chantry. Colder, as he nears the door, and colder still, as he steps through them. Stopping just outside to cup his hands together, raise them to his face. Blowing warm air into them, rubbing them together.

“All those layers and you’re still cold?” Cullen, moving to stand beside him, and Alexi laughs.

“I’ve been cold ever since this,” he says, holding out one of his hands, the scar faintly glowing green just beneath his gloves. Cullen frowns as he rests his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“How is _that_?” Alexi wraps his hands around his staff once again.

“Better than it was,” he says, “it still hurts, but attempting to seal the Breach once with it helped. Perhaps sealing it again will help again.”

Unsure of what else to say, “I’m sorry Trevelyan,” is all that’s left.

“Please call me Alexi,” he says with a bright smile, resting his head against his staff. “Although Trevelyan is a bit better than ‘Herald’.”

“How does that title make you feel?” Cullen asks, the laughter around the edges of his mouth.

“A bit horrified. Every time I hear it, I feel like I should be on my knees begging forgiveness from Andraste for stealing her thunder,” he says. The laughter bursts through free this time, and Alexi grins at the sound of it.

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” he tells him. A snowflake lands on Alexi’s cheek. A delicate thing, outnumbered and surrounded by freckles. Branches of white against olive, and Cullen cannot look away from it, as it melts against the heat of his skin. Alexi reaches upwards, brushes away the water drop with an errant brush of his hand. Cullen clears his throat, looks away.

“Do you think you’ll still take Barris with you?” Cullen asks. 

“If he agrees,” he says.

“I’ll come as well, if you’ll have me,” he says. It’s selfish, he supposes, for wanting to go. It’s a chance to be away from Haven, and the duties that come with being Commander. In all the time he’s been back in Ferelden, he’s barely seen an inch of it. To go to Redcliffe would mean being able to stretch his legs, and not deal with giving any orders or finishing reports. Primarily though, he’ll be able to keep an eye on Alexi. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the others, or Barris, it’s just – he’d feel better being there himself. After all, he’s never seen a mage with more defensive spells, nor less offensive ones. It’s practical, he tells himself, to be there to watch over him.

“Of course. I’m glad you’ll be coming,” Alexi says. Looking towards Cullen, and the smile spreads across his face. It reaches every inch of him, from the dimples in his cheeks, to the way he sways slightly where he stands. Even his dark eyes seem to brighten. Unexpectedly, Cullen feels his cheeks color.

“Yes, uh,” a cough, as he turns away, “I’ll leave you to it, Trevelyan.”

“Alexi,” a reminder called after his retreating back.

* * *

“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” Dorian says as he leans against the walls of the small house. Alexi is kneeling down before an old woman, her hands in his. It’s warmer, to be around Alexi. A side effect of his echo, of being a healer. Every tense muscle seems to relax, aches working their way out of his bones. Direct contact would be even more potent, with Alexi guiding his magic to soothe every hurt. Dorian watches as Alexi slowly rises.

“Please send word if it gets bad again,” he says, “I’ll have someone from the Inquisition bring you potions that can help manage the pain.”

“Thank you Herald,” she says, “blessings be to you.” A polite nod, almost a bow, before Alexi goes to greet Dorian. He instantly puts a guiding hand at Alexi’s arm, leads him towards the back of the Chantry.

“Don’t want to be seen, you know. Spoil the surprise for Alexius and all of that. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? For Alexius?” he asks.

“Yes, and I was wondering if we could have your help.”

“You have it,” Dorian says instantly. “Tell me the plan.”

“There’s a secret passage that a few Inquisition agents will take. I’ll be the bait, and meet with Alexius directly. The agents will hopefully catch him off guard and we can take the castle without too many casualties,” Alexi says.

“That won’t do. Alexius has magical traps put up all around the castle. I’d best be going with your agents then,” he says.

“The passage is by the windmill,” he says, “you can meet our agents there. Thank you, Dorian, for doing this.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t trip on any Venatori on your way inside,” he says. While Dorian goes one way, Alexi goes the other. Entering the Chantry, and a few faces immediately turn towards him. A few mages, what few sisters remain, Barris, and Cullen. The two were immediately flanked by mages, other citizens of Redcliffe. Despite Barris wearing armor of the Inquisition, and Cullen his usual, they were immediately known to be Templars. The sort of silence around them, a lifetime of knowing what their jailors feel like.

“You made contact then?” Cullen asks as Alexi joins them.

“Yes, Dorian is joining the others. When should we go inside?”

“We should go sooner rather than later. If you’re ready,” Cullen says. It seems as if all the mages in the room breathe a sigh of relief the moment Cullen and Barris begin to leave. Alexi doesn’t blame them.

“Can I ask a favor?” Alexi asks as they leave the Chantry, wrapping a hand around Cullen’s arm.

“What is it?”

“Can you tell me what Redcliffe looks like?” The sound of voices in every corner, birds on rooftops. The distant echo of waves crashing against the docks, and the feeling of the sun shining on his face. Stone paths underfoot, but also grass, softer earth.

“Oh! Well, it’s very green.” Alexi chuckles slightly. “Maker’s breath, I’m not very good at this. The village is built into a cliff, with a few waterfalls which run into Lake Calenhad. Lots of trees and wildflowers. A few statues, here and there, mostly honoring the Hero of Ferelden and different Mabari. It’s – it’s quite lovely,” Cullen says.

“And very green,” Alexi says with a smile. At his other side, Barris snorts, chokes back unexpected laughter. A squeeze at his arm, but Alexi doesn’t remove his hand. Cullen only sighs, shakes his head.

“Two Venatori at the bridge. There are probably more on the other side watching for us to cross. There were eyes on us when we arrived, but they went back to the castle quickly. Alexius knows we’re here. He knows we’re coming,” Barris says quietly.

“Good,” Cullen says, “That’s what we wanted.” The agents had been practically smuggled in. Plain clothed, armor in the wagons they brought with them. Mingling with the villagers, pretending they’d been there all along. A quiet word passed along through the mages, those willing to help hide them. They’ll be making their way through the passage now, along with Dorian. Alexi feels the nervousness twist in his belly, rolling anxiety that rises with each step.

Ventatori open the gates to the castle. Venatori watch them enter the castle. Venatori at every corner, herding them towards the main hall. Alexi takes a shuddering breath. Cullen reaches out, a hand over his, pulls him even more forward so that their arms are properly linked. “We’re here, Trevelyan,” he says as they stand at the door. Barris lets his hand rest over the hilt of his sword, the shield steady on his back. The Venatori are all masked, their vision distorted by ornate metal. It will make it easier for the agents to surprise them.

A creak, as it opens, stepping through. A seneschal meets them in an instant. Looking at the three of them, some displeased frown making its way across his face. “The invitation was for the Herald of Andraste, and the Herald alone,” he says.

“If they can’t enter, then neither will I,” Alexi says.

“Very well,” he says after a moment of pondering silence. Making their way up the stairs, and Alexi keeps his arm linked in Cullen’s. Casting out the echo, and his magic touches those around them. Fiona’s own magic gently pushes back, almost a handshake. Alexius’s magic is more of walking over coals, unwelcoming and unwanted. Felix can only allow it to happen. “My lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

“My friend.” Alexius’s hands settle on the armrest, the metal of his gauntlets tapping against the metal of the chair. “It is so good to see you again, although I am surprised to see you bring Templars into our midst. I had hoped to make this a place of safety for the rebel mages.”

“Cullen is the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, and Barris serves under him. They are also my friends. Surely you can understand that I need some help walking around, even in such a magnificent castle, Magister,” Alexi says, quite politely, and with his staff leaning against him, he gestures towards his eyes and readjusts his other arm against Cullen’s.

“Of course,” he says as he finally stands, walks forward. He stays on the upper steps, above them. “I am eager to begin the negotiations. I’m sure we can find some solution that is equitable to all parties.”

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Fiona says, moving to stand near Barris.

“Surely, Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” Alexius says. Even without being able to see it, Alexi can almost hear the scowl in his words.

“If the Grand Enchanter wishes to be part of these talks, then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition,” he says.

“Thank you,” Fiona says with a small nod of gratitude towards them. No immediate reply from Alexius, but he does turn on his heel, move back beside the chair. Looking at the flames in the fireplace behind it, his hand on the back of the chair.

“The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and _I_ have them.” Looking over his shoulder, before he turns completely. Sitting himself back down on the chair, judge and jury all in one. “What will you offer in exchange?” If he knows what happened at Therinfal, he’s playing coy. He would have to know that Barris came from there, and that the trap with the red Templars had failed.

“Alexius. You don’t need to do this. The Inquisition can help you. Whatever hold the Venatori have over you, we can free you from it,” Alexi says.

“What did you say?” Spoken stiffly, coldly.

“Father, he knows everything,” Felix says.

“What have you done?” Such outrage.

“Your son is concerned for you. He believes you’re involved in something terrible,” Alexi says.

“So speaks the thief! Do you think you can turn my son against me? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake,” Alexius says as he stands, walks before them. The heat of the flames behind him seem to grow hotter, roll with his rising anger. Cullen puts a steadying hand over Alexi’s arm.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Felix asks, disappointment echoing in every syllable.

“He sounds like the villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” Dorian says as he turns from around a pillar, slips around Barris to stand shoulder to shoulder with Alexi.

“Dorian,” Alexius says, eyes narrowing. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this, and you turned me down. You shouldn’t be here. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes. The world will belong to the mages once again.”

“No, you will not involve my people in this,” Fiona says.

“Give this up Father. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home,” Felix says.

“No. It’s the only way to save you. I was promised! If I undo the mistake from the temple,” Alexius says, hands squeezing on Felix’s shoulders.

“I’m going to die. You need to accept that,” he tells him. Alexius shakes his head, turns away from his son and back to the others.

“Seize them Venatori. The Elder One demands this one’s life,” Alexius says, pointing at Alexi. All at once, agents step out from the shadows. Armor emblazoned with the eye of the Inquisition, knives at the throat of all the Venatori. A few lingering chokes, cries, and bodies’ slump into heaps as the agents do their work.

“It’s over Alexius. There’s no need for any more violence. Come with us, please,” Alexi says, finally untangling himself from Cullen. His staff in both hands as he walks forwards, finding the very bottom of the step, looking up to where Alexius is. An echo, and more of those hot coals. He is conflicted orange, mourning black at his very core.

“You are a mistake,” Alexius hisses, “you should never have existed.” He raises his hand, and the magic he conjures is made of the same bright as the mark on Alexi’s palm. It seeps through the barrier Alexi raises, surrounds him, and in a heartbeat, Dorian is at his side.

“No!” Bright crashes against bright, magic that cascades around them, swallows him up. Alexi suddenly finds himself standing in knee high water, stumbling backwards.

“What? Where are we?” Alexi says as he finds his footing. Alexius’s magic still rankles in his brain, confuses his senses.

“Displacement? Interesting. Probably not what Alexius intended,” Dorian muses. Dorian. Dorian is here. Alexi casts out his echo and immediately cries out. The staff falls from his hand as he clutches his head, pain that spikes in every bit of him. Splashing water as Dorian makes his way towards him, puts hands on his shoulders.

“Alexi? What is it?”

“Something in this room. It was like it took all my magic and sent it back to me like a spear,” he says.

“There is red lyrium all over this room. Even more interesting. I wouldn’t try that again, were I you,” Dorian says, picking up his staff for him. Handing it to Alexi, as he rubs his temples. “I’m fairly certain we’re still in the castle, but – ah. It isn’t _where_ we are, but _when_. Alexius used his amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

“What? How far?” Long enough for red lyrium to be growing over the walls, a blighted cancer on even stone.

“An excellent question. Wish I had the answer! Let’s look around, shall we? See if we can’t find a way back,” he says. Instead of casting his magic out, he tethers it to Dorian. Still, he puts a hand on Dorian’s shoulder as he follows him out of the room. “He must have tossed us inside the Rift before he was ready. Reckless. We less travelled through time than punched a hole through it. But don’t worry, I’m here and I’ll protect you.”

“The others with me. Could they have come through?”

“Doubtful. Alexius wouldn’t risk a wide enough rift to pull Felix through. They’re likely where and when we left them.” The smallest sigh of relief. Cullen and Barris are safe, then. “We, however, seem to be in the dungeons. What _is_ red lyrium to make it grow on stone?” 

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Alexi says.

“Well I certainly do,” Dorian tells him. “Come on, let’s see if there’s anyone in these cells who can tell us the date.” Turning a corner, and Alexi hears him push open the door. His steps are smaller than they would be, and he takes more time to find his footing. Dorian is patient, movies slowly with him. “Fiona? Is that you?”

“You’re alive,” Fiona says, sounding as though her heart has fallen through. “How are you alive? We saw you go through the rift!”

“Can you tell us the date? It’s very important,” Dorian says hurriedly.

“Harvestmere 9:42 Dragon,” Fiona says weakly.

“We missed an entire year,” Alexi says, “We have to get out of here, and go back in time. Stop this from ever happening.”

“Our only hope is to find Alexius and the amulet he used to send us here. If it still exists, I can use it to re-open the rift and put us back right where we left,” Dorian says.

“Good. You must try,” Fiona says.

“Do you know what happened to Barris and Cullen?” Alexi asks.

“They killed the Templar, but captured the Commander. He is near the main hall. I have heard the guards whispering. Your spymaster is here, somewhere, being held captive. Find her and go, before the Elder One learns you’re here,” Fiona says. “Go!”

“I’m sorry,” Alexi is saying to her as they leave, “we’ll fix this.” He can hear the red lyrium around them. It hums, no louder than a whisper. A broken song, low and repeating. Cracked around the edges, blighted at its center. Warmer around it as well, as though it lives, beats with a life all its own. He shies away from it whenever he feels himself coming near it, stays close to Dorian, his hand still on his shoulder. Over the hum, something else. Voices. One shouted, the other steady. A slap, an outcry.

“Leliana,” Alexi says as the voices grow louder. Moving towards the open door and Alexi feels the magic rise in Dorian. He reaches forward, the lightning slipping from his fingertips, striking into the distracted back of the Venatori that holds Leliana hostage.

“You’re alive,” she says. Alexi moves from Dorian to her, a hand on her arm, moving upwards to find her arms raised, shackles around her wrists. Dorian beside him, slipping a key into the locks.

“You’re hurt,” Alexi says. She slaps away his hand, walks away from them as she massages her wrist.

“I’m fine. We have to go. The Magister is probably in his chambers,” Leliana says as she walks towards a chest in the corner of the room, pulls a quiver and bow from it.

“You aren’t curious at all how we got here?” Leliana doesn’t reply as she slings the quiver over her shoulder. “Alexius sent us into the future. This, his victory, his Elder One, it was never meant to be,” Dorian tells her.

“We can go back. Stop Alexius before this ever happens,” Alexi says, reaching out towards her again. This time she puts her hand in his. He almost wants to cry from the feeling of it. As his magic seeps inside her, he only wants to hold her harder. Bones broken and healed, time and time again. Cuts and scars, malnutrition. A lifetime of sorrow and pain, in only a year.

“This is some future that you hope never exists for you. But it’s real for me. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was _real_ ,” Leliana says. “Let’s go. I know the fastest way back.” She wrenches her hand away from Alexi, but his tether follows her, just as it does Dorian. Dorian waits for him, allows the hand on his shoulder once again.

“Where are the Venatori?” Dorian asks as they move through a mostly empty castle. The few they come across, Leliana makes pincushions of.

“Ferelden has already been conquered. They don’t need soldiers here any longer,” she says as they make their way into the courtyard.

“The Fade, it’s – everywhere,” Dorian says in wonder. Alexi can only imagine at what they’re seeing, but he can feel it in his skin. Raw magical energy, like pinpricks rolling over him.

“There’s a Rift nearby,” Alexi says, the mark trembling. There’s always a hunger to it, when there’s a Rift nearby. A hunger that devours him whole, from the tips of his fingers to the hair that rises at the back of his neck. His hand shakes with want of it, and he balls it into a fist in an attempt to keep it still.

“It doesn’t matter. There are Rifts all over Thedas,” Leliana says. Demons screech on the other side of walls, and she keeps them moving at a brisk pace. Crossing the courtyard, back again into the castle. Down twisting steps, until they reach a hall. Alexi covers them both with barriers as they fight the Venatori who guard it, and he turns his attention to the Rift that sits at the very center of the room. Raising his hand, opening his fist, letting the mark see it, feel it, devour it whole. An effort, to keep his arm aloft. Searing into his flesh, taking the tear and making it a part of him. He’s grateful when the link is broken, and the Rift sealed.

“Is that Cullen?” Alexi hears Dorian ask.

“I’ve gone mad, finally,” Cullen sighs when he sees them, “at least I get to see you again.”

“Cullen,” and despite how much it hurts, he casts out the echo to find him. By the doors of the main hall, chained to the floor. Going to his knees before him, hands that slip over the jagged edges of red lyrium that grow from his body. “What have they done to you?” One of his arms is completely consumed by it. More a spear now, while spikes of it grow from his spine. Dusted red around his eyes, horns of it that burst from his head.

“They didn’t like that I wasn’t a proper Templar anymore. They’ve been feeding me red lyrium ever since. I knew that lyrium would kill me, one day. I never thought it would be like this,” he says with a smile. “It’s fair. For what I’ve done.” Alexi looks over his shoulder at Dorian.

“Can you break the chains?” he asks.

“I can certainly try,” he says, tapping his staff against the links of chain. They rattle at the sudden touch, hiss at the heat Dorian is applying. Alexi is moving touch over his shoulders, finding his face. A long beard, unkempt hair. Cupping his face in his hands, and the magic he tries to pour into Cullen seems to be pushed away. The red lyrium. Alexi pushes harder. Clenching his jaw, struggling not to show how much it hurts.

“You aren’t mad,” Alexi tells him, “I’m real. We’re going to stop this from ever happening to you.” Cullen sighs.

“If you’re real, you should kill me now. Before the lyrium consumes me completely,” he says.

“No. I won’t do that,” Alexi says.

“I tried. I tried to be strong,” Cullen tells him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” Alexi is saying, while Cullen smiles.

“Maker, it’s good to hear your voice.” The chains rattle as Dorian finally breaks through, melts what holds him into pieces. He first helps Alexi to his feet, and then they move to help Cullen.

“We’re wasting time. We must confront Alexius now. He needs to pay for what he’s done,” Leliana says, going to the doors. Reaching out, and pulling back her hand when she’s shocked.

“I’m coming with you,” Cullen says, dragging the arm of red lyrium behind him. The collar is still around his throat, that small bit of chain at his back. Alexi moves beside Leliana, and he can feel the magic pulsing from it. Raising his hands, he pushes, finds the locks others can’t see. His magic breaks these locks, forms the key, and the barrier that bars their way comes crashing down. She immediately pushes the doors open.

“Alexius,” he says as they make their way forward. A testing echo, and there is no red lyrium here. Somehow, Alexius has kept the hall clear of it. If Alexius is surprised to see them, Alexi doesn’t know it. “Look at what’s happened. Is this really what you wanted?”

“No,” he says. “I only wanted to save my son.” Grieving, in the words of it, but – the echo, and Alexi finds Felix. His color has all been eaten up, left with lifeless grey. A husk. Alive, but no longer living. “I knew you would appear again. I knew I hadn’t destroyed you.”

“Was it worth it? What you did to the world? To yourself?” Dorian asks it bitterly.

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do now is wait for the end,” he says.

“It does matter. This can be undone. Give us the amulet, please. Help us go back. Help us stop this from ever happening,” Alexi pleads with him.

“The Elder One comes. For you. For me. For us all,” he says, resigned to his fate. Leliana marches forward, drags up Felix by the collar, and puts the knife to his throat. Life leaps back into Alexius, angrily crying out as she manhandles his son.

“Let him go! I’ll do whatever you need, I swear it. My son! I’ll give you anything you want!”

“I want the world back,” Leliana tells him coldly as she draws the blade across Felix’s throat. He crumples without a cry, and the grey that was in him fades into nothingness as he slips into welcome death.

“No! No!” Cullen moves in front of Alexi, pushes him back, his palm against his chest. Raising his other arm, allowing the red lyrium to soak up the spell Alexius casts at him in anger.

“Leave him to me,” Dorian says as he moves forward, the spell lifting from his fingers. Cullen drags Alexi back, just as Alexi lets his own spell spill forth. A tide of defensive magic, an ocean that surrounds Dorian. Alexius’s next spell fizzles into nothing, dampened by what Alexi is pouring out. A suffocating wave after wave, weaving silence around Alexius, stitching strength into Dorian.

A bolt. Another. Catching Alexius in the chest and he goes stumbling back. “You were my mentor. I looked up to you. I thought the world of you. How could you do this?” Dorian asks as he casts the final spell. Catching him in his arms as he falls, Dorian slowly lowers him to the ground. Closing his eyes for him, taking the amulet from his neck. “Oh Alexius.” Cullen is still holding Alexi back.

“This Alexius was too far gone, but Alexius in our time still exists. He can be reasoned with,” Alexi tells him.

“You’re right. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to open a rift to get us back,” Dorian says.

“An hour? That’s impossible. You must go now!” Leliana says, her dagger put away and the bow in her hands. As if summoned by her very words, they hear a monstrous cry outside the castle. The very foundations shake with it, stones coming loose at it. “The Elder One. He’s here.”

“I’ll hold the outer door. I’ll buy you as much time as I can,” Cullen says.

“No, I won’t let you commit suicide,” Alexi says, a fist in Cullen’s cloak, holding him still.

“Look at us. We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes. Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows,” Leliana says. Cullen turns to Alexi, smiles as he gently takes his hand from his cloak.

“The first thing he does is go after Orlais with an army of demons, and with Wardens at his side. Protect the Empress. I’ll see you soon,” Cullen tells him as he leaves for the door. Closing heavy shut behind him, and Alexi’s hand trembles. Rifts, opening everywhere, as far as he can tell.

Dorian’s brows couldn’t be closer together, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he works in utter concentration. “Though darkness closes.” A cry from outside the doors. Something unholy, unworldly, demonic. “I am shielded by flame.” With every word of Leliana’s prayer, the door shudders. Struggling to hold, until it can hold no more. “Andraste guide me.” Arrow, after arrow, and a demon deposits Cullen’s corpse in plain view. “Maker, take me to your side.”

Dorian grabs hold of Alexi’s arm. “You move, and we all die!” He can only listen to Leliana’s grunts and groans, the sudden stillness of arrows, the sound of a dagger hitting flesh. The rift is opening up behind them and Alexi turns in time to see all of Leliana’s color disappear, then Dorian is dragging him through.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian crows triumphantly as they emerge out the other side, in the throne room. Alexius gapes, at a loss for words, before he simply goes to his knees, the fight gone from him. The amulet rolls from his hands, broken into pieces. Felix crouches down near him.

“It’s going to be alright father,” Felix tells him.

“You’ll die,” he says.

“Everyone dies.” The agents move forward, around Alexi and the rest, to take Alexius in chains and into their custody.

“Herald? What about us?” Fiona asks as she steps forward. “I doubt that Ferelden will be willing to allow us to stay after, after… this.”

“Yes,” Alexi says, “you’ll come with us. The Inquisition will protect you.”

“And what are the terms of this arrangement? I know you have already recruited the Templars. Is Haven to be a new Circle?” Alexi shakes his head.

“No. You’ll keep your freedom. The mages and the Templars will work together to close the Breach. Fight as allies, at the Inquisitions side,” Alexi says.

“It seems that we have little choice,” Fiona says.

* * *

He sits at the back of the cart, his feet dangling over the edge. His staff behind him, and Cullen beside him. “I can’t wait to hear what Cassandra and the others will say about offering the mages a complete alliance with no terms,” Cullen says with a hint of laughter. The cart bounces on the rocky road, countless mages following in behind them. Alexi has his hands clasped in his lap. He’s been quiet since Redcliffe.

“Cullen, can I ask you a question?” he asks.

“What is it?”

“Is there any reason you wouldn’t be a… ‘proper’ Templar anymore?” Alexi doesn’t know it, but Cullen’s face goes ashen white.

“Why would you say that?”

“The Rift that appeared in the main hall. It might have seemed like no time passed, that perhaps Dorian dispelled it right away but… we went through it. We went through time, and we saw a possible future. You were there and you – you told me that you weren’t a proper Templar. I didn’t know what it meant,” he says. Cullen mirrors Alexi, hands clasped in his lap.

“Just before Cassandra recruited me for the Inquisition, I stopped taking lyrium. It’s been months now,” he says. “It grants us our abilities, but it controls us as well. Some go mad, others die.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? Why are you doing this?” Alexi asks.

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t – I didn’t want to be bound to the Order, or that life any longer. I’ve asked Cassandra to watch me in case it affects my ability to lead,” he says.

“Are you in pain?”

“I can endure it,” he says. “Did I – did I say anything else in that future?” Alexi shakes his head.

“You warned me about a few things, but nothing more about yourself,” he says. Cullen sighs, and Alexi thinks it might be one of relief. Biting his bottom lip, squeezing his hands together. He remembers the feel of the red lyrium under his fingertips, and the way Cullen felt when he touched him. “Can I ask something else? May I see you?” Alexi raises his hands, opens his palms to him.

“Oh! Ah – yes. Of course,” he says. Leaning forward, into Alexi’s touch. His hands settle on Cullen’s face, his thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

“I never knew you had stubble,” Alexi says as he runs his fingers through it, palms against Cullen’s cheeks. “What color are your eyes?”

“Unremarkable, I’m afraid. They’re amber.”

“Amber,” Alexi murmurs, his thumb tracing over Cullen’s lips. He pauses when he feels it, follows the line of the scar up his face. “Should I ask?”

“It was a foolish mistake. I trusted a Templar in Kirkwall who was… displeased, with how I was handling the situation.”

“Displeased?”

“Angry that we weren’t slaughtering the mages who survived.”

“Oh.” His hands are still moving over Cullen’s face. Tracing the line of his brows, the curve of his temple. Down his nose, over the shell of his ears.

“What was the Circle like? In Ostwick?”

“Better than most. Most of the mages there were sons or daughters of nobles. Almost everyone in the Free Marches would arrange to have their high born mage child sent to the Ostwick Circle. The Templars were – it was almost like they were behind a pane of glass. They were always watching, but we weren’t able to touch them. That changed,” he says, “after Kirkwall fell.” His chin, usually held so high, now drops.

“I’m sorry. It must have been awful.” As his hands fall back to his lap. Alexi shrugs.

“I lost my sight when I was very young. My parents sent for mystics, mages, and healers of every kind. I know they were frantic, and I know they loved me, but I can’t even remember what they looked like. I remember the Circle. My teachers, my friends. I’m afraid of forgetting them too,” Alexi says.

“If you don’t mind my saying, I can already tell that you won’t,” Cullen assures him gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


	3. Emergent

“The Templars no longer have any duties involving mages, unless the mages ask for their help. All the Templars need to do is focus on rebuilding. Josephine has secured a supply of lyrium for both groups, and I know Cullen and Vivienne have some ideas in mind to help,” Alexi tells him.

“Some might not take this so well,” Barris says.

“I can speak to them if they have questions.” This statement is met with doubtful silence. “Or, I can have Cassandra and Leliana speak to them,” he says. Barris chuckles under his breath.

“That threat might be enough to keep them in line,” he says, clapping Alexi on the back. Stronger than he means it to be, Alexi almost trips but for Barris steadying him. “Sorry.” A smile, waving away the apology.

“Herald, sorry to trouble you, but I was wondering if we might discuss the plans for the Breach. If the Templars are to dampen the ambient magic, we must ensure lines so that they do not affect the mages,” Fiona says as she walks up to them. Alexi puts a hand on Barris’s back, a guiding pat towards her.

“Barris is more than capable of speaking for the Templars. He can also recommend others for this. Please let us know what you decide, and we’ll do everything we can to help,” he says. Pulling his sweaters and his robe tighter around him, breath fogging in the air. Snow underneath his feet, the dirt paths of Haven. Stone steps, and he gives a polite greeting to Solas as he passes. Pushing open the door of the cabin and Adan instantly slams down the container he’s holding.

“You’re late!” He says, waving around a fist full of spindleweed – for his own benefit, not for Alexi’s. “They want us making healing poultices. Hear that’s your fault too.”

“Sorry Adan,” Alexi says with a smile. He rests his staff very near the work bench, the small bells at the head softly chiming as it leans against the wall. Hands moving over the table and upwards, finding the small bottles. Alexi and Adan had spent most of an afternoon labelling them in a way Alexi could find them easily. A circle of raised dots for elfroot. Two for blood lotus. So on and so forth. Wrapping a hand around the jar of elfroot, pulling out the stopper. Everything is carefully measured in touch. Crushing the elfroot, adding a pinch of lotus. All of it is routine, memorized and practiced, and so his thoughts stray elsewhere.

“Adan, do you know what happens to Templars when they stop taking lyrium?” he asks.

“Stop taking lyrium? Maker why would they do that? They usually die,” he says. Alexi’s jaw drops.

“I thought you’d’ve learned that in your fancy Circle.” Adan is studying the edges of the spindleweed. Parts of it are greyed, unfit for use. With a displeased knife, he cuts them to shreds, completely unaware of the fact that all of Alexi’s movements have come to a complete halt.

“The Templars didn’t typically like mages knowing anything about the Order, outside of the fact that they were in charge,” Alexi says.

“Not a surprise, I guess,” Adan says, “lyrium gives them their abilities but it’s also some nasty stuff for regular folk. It’s addictive so they need a constant supply. Eventually most Templars lose their minds. Start having some crazy dreams. Lose all their memories. Stopping it though, after years of use, is dangerous. You have the typical withdrawal, but this is no typical chain. The ones I’ve seen try to quit either start using again after a month or die after a few. Then again, a Templar that quits is rare. Only seen a few.”

“If there were Templars in the camp that wanted to stop using lyrium, is there anything we can do to help?” Alexi asks, staying away from the question of Cullen entirely.

“Oh so you want to give me more work, huh?” Adan finally looks over, “especially since the Herald himself can’t put in the time!” Alexi immediately goes back to task, reaching for the glass vial nearby. Adan watches him for a moment, and then sighs.

“If there was one foolish enough to quit, then there’d be a couple things you could do. First of all, they either can’t sleep or when they do sleep, they get nightmares something fierce. So you’ll want something for a dreamless sleep. Then something for the shakes, and something for the headaches and general aches and pain. I’m sure you could do something with that magic of yours as well. Taking lyrium – well – let’s just stay to quit is to willingly cut out a vital organ. You have to either manage with it missing or replace it,” Adan tells him.

“Thank you,” Alexi says. He receives only a grunt in return. Reaching upwards towards the jars and vials, the herbs that hang to dry. Fingertips slipping over mark and leaf, looking for the right one. He finds it by the corner, in a box. The purple silken petals of wood betony, its collection of leaves. He finds a small slip of a bag, no bigger than his palm. He works to crush the right amount, pack the bag with it. Reaching for his staff, traveling touch over stone and crystal, herb and flower. A bit of lavender for scent. Tying it shut, he holds it in his hands. Imbuing it with his magic, filling it with his calm, lingering healing. Finished, he tucks it into his pocket for later.

That later comes soon enough as afternoon ebbs into evening. Adan had never formally asked for Alexi’s help – at least, not in the beginning. More Alexi had made himself at home there, wedged his way into being useful. As he makes for the Chantry, he leaves behind a box stocked full of fresh poultices. Haven is quiet, torches lit. The occasional soldier greets him with a kind word, but most leave him alone. His footsteps echo in the empty hall, snow falling from his boots and melting on stone. The door to the war room creaks as he opens it, smiling as he does. “I thought I might find you here,” he says.

Cullen looks up from his papers, puts down the quill. “Trevelyan. What can I do for you?”

“You can call me Alexi,” he says, “but it’s more what I can do for you.” Making his way around the table, standing beside where Cullen sits. The bells on his staff chime as he switches it from hand to hand, and reaches into his pocket. Holding it out to him, and after a moment, Cullen takes it carefully.

“What is this?” Warm in his hands, a feeling that works its way up his arm, into his shoulders.

“It’s an old wives tale that if you put crushed wood betony under your pillow, it will banish nightmares. Even if you don’t believe that, it _will_ help you sleep,” Alexi says. Cullen turns it in his hands, and yes, this is the definite signature of Alexi’s magic. The strained muscles of his neck and back ease, and the throbbing headache fades to a dull ache. It’s the first release he’s felt in ages, and Cullen almost wants to collapse instantly. Instead, he looks up at Alexi.

“You are – this is too kind. I’m not sure I deserve this,” he says. He keeps it tightly clenched in his hands, and he’s taken off guard by Alexi reaching out, touching his cloak. Threading fingers through the fur, pinching a bit together, twisting it. As if realizing what he’s doing, Alexi’s hand falls stiffly back to his side.

“Everyone deserves a bit of kindness,” he says.

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Everyone has a past, but I know who you are now,” Alexi says with a smile, “and that’s good enough for me.” The smile is briefer on Cullen’s part, because he isn’t good enough for himself. Something heavy has settled in his ribs, and now it squeezes tight.

“I, uh – the mages and the Templars have submitted their plans for tomorrow. Solas and Cassandra have already looked them over and agreed to it. Do you think this might seal the Breach?” Cullen asks, retreating to a different topic.

“I didn’t realize it would be tomorrow,” Alexi says. He holds his staff with both hands. He remembers the last attempt, and what it felt like. As though the marrow were being drawn from his bones, draining blood, tearing away at skin. Every part of him on fire, even as he faded, as he slept.

“Are you alright?”

“What if the mages and the Templars aren’t enough? What if,” Alexi bites his bottom lip briefly, “it goes wrong?” A hand flat on the table, and Cullen pushes himself up to stand in front of Alexi. He puts his hands on his shoulders, gives them a reassuring squeeze.

“It will be enough.”

“And the ‘Elder One’? I doubt he’d simply let me walk up and close it. I know what it was like, in Redcliffe. The Breach, and the Fade, was _everywhere_. It was nothing like I’d ever felt before,” he says.

“The whole of the Inquisition will be with you. It _will_ be alright. We’ll protect you,” Cullen tells him. Alexi moves a hand away from his staff, between them. Tugging off his glove, letting it rest on the table. Palm upwards, hand held flat, the scar in the very center. Jagged edges, a torn shape, the very Fade itself seems to spark from the mark. The very veins of his hands pulse with it, the skin of him flickering green.

“And what about this? I don’t think it will just go away after the Breach is closed. What if it keeps growing? What if –” Cullen claps his hand over Alexi’s.

“Don’t think about that,” he says, “one thing at a time. Solas and the others will work something out.” Holding his hand, and it’s as though he’s put his palm against ice. Pin prickles on his skin, an unearthly cold that seeps from the mark. Cullen doesn’t move away because of it, only holds his hand tighter.

“Will you be at the Breach tomorrow with the others?” Alexi asks quietly.

“Yes,” Cullen says instantly, now needing to make a change in duties and schedules, “I’ll be there.” Alexi squeezes his hand gratefully.

“I should probably get some sleep,” he says, reaching for his glove on the table. Cullen steps back as he watches him put it back on. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he says. Alexi closes the door gently behind him. A subtle click and Cullen sighs as he slumps back down into the chair. Tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling. Closing his eyes briefly before he leans forward. Elbows on the table and he’s turning the bag in his fingers. Closing his eyes again as he holds it near him, breathes it in. Lavender.

Alexi sleeps restlessly. Turning in his bed, curling up. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. It comes sooner than he wants it to. A handful of mages, Vivienne and Dorian standing with them. A few Templars. The ones chosen for this. Fiona and Barris stand at the head of their groups. Solas and Cassandra stand in the clearing. The magic is wild here, untamed, matching the chaos of the mark on his hand. Alexi goes to stand beside Cassandra, and she puts a steadying hand at his back. Here, as it is with any Rift, the mark senses it, hungers. His hand shakes without control, and he holds it out before him. In the dark of his echo, green flames consume his hand, lick up his wrist.

Turning, looking behind him, and his echo focuses on the familiar colors of Cullen. Strained blue, red that cracks at the edges. The pieces and parts of him he can see, but more than that. Cullen has stubble. Amber eyes. A scar on his lip. Turning back to the Breach, and it consumes his echo. Blinding, and so he pulls his echo back, keeps his colors close. Cassandra’s hand slips from his back and he can hear her walking away. He knows Solas remains nearby, and Alexi stays where he is, still and standing.

“Templars!” The call goes up from Barris. The sound of armor, swords being drawn. The air becomes stale, filled instead with the acrid taste of the Templar’s abilities. A tornado of it, centered on the Breach, containing its wild flow of magic.

“Mages!” An echoing cry from Fiona. It hits him in the back. A flow of magic, the wills of all the mages gathered. He recognizes Dorian’s touch, the lightning in Vivienne. Alexi breathes out slowly.

“Draw from them, and guide their power towards the mark,” Solas tells him. “When you’re ready.” He isn’t. He won’t be. He steps forward. Blinding again, as his echo guides his way. Inside the thick mist that falls from the Breach, the dense energy it exudes. Every step weighted, he fights his way forward. His hand trembles, shakes, moves upwards on its own. It reaches for the Breach, clawing towards it mindlessly. Somehow, in the midst of it, the energy of the mages find him. Guided through a path made by the Templars. Stretching out his fingers, every other thought gone from his mind.

It stretches him thin, whirls around him. The curls of his hair softly moving about him, his robes and sweaters swirling, the bells on his staff chiming without end. He closes his eyes, although this does nothing to looks up to its center. It’s beautiful, in a way. The connection made, a jolt that runs from the tips of his fingers, the ends of his toes. A splinter in his hand, and he clenches his jaw tightly, takes in all that the other mages have to offer.

Building it inside him, churning inside his ribs, trembling as he pushes it down his arm, towards the mark. Burning brightly, searing hot, and with a ragged cry, he lets it all go.

As the connection breaks, he’s thrown backwards. The wind knocked from him, he’s wheezing as he rolls onto his stomach, crawling forward on the stone. All the magic has been exhausted from him, ripped away, and he wants to call out for Cassandra and the others, to make sure they’re alright, but all he can do is gasp for breath. “Trevelyan.” A hand underneath his arm, pulling him upwards, another at his ribs. Dragged to his feet, Alexi’s fingers touch familiar fur, and he leans gratefully against Cullen. “Are you alright?” he asks. Alexi nods.

“All things considered, that went rather well. You did it,” Cassandra says, picking up Alexi’s staff for him and taking it with her for him. 

“Oh,” Alexi says weakly, “that’s good.” Cullen slips an arm around his waist, puts Alexi’s arm over his shoulders.

“Let’s get back to Haven,” he says.

* * *

Alexi sits on a barrel, very near to the rest of them. The stench of alcohol hangs in the air, while the music echoes all around them. Laughter and merriment. A celebration. He breathes easier now, his magic returned. He casts out his echo simply because he can, watches as colors make themselves known to him once again. His arm aches. No matter how much healing he applies to it, nothing changes the pain that sears through the mark. So, he keeps his hand closed and his staff in his lap. Fingertips drift over the tied crystals and stones, play with the bells attached to it.

It had started as a joke. A way to let others know he was coming, so that they could clear the small corridors of the Circle. It was a way for his friends to find him, to guide him. What would they think of him now? His thoughts drift back to his family, in a way they had not done in so very long. He remembers a woman holding him tightly. He doesn’t remember how it started – how they even knew he was losing his vision. Worried over day and night, but it didn’t matter. His magic came and his sight went, and then he was gone to the Circle.

Would his mother know him now? He wonders what color she might be.

“Solas confirms it. The heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed,” Cassandra says, as she puts a hand on his shoulder. Looking out at the people celebrating, and she pats his back as she pulls up a box to sit beside him. “There are many lingering rifts, and many questions that need answering, but this was a victory. You should be with them. Celebrating.”

“Why aren’t you?” Alexi asks her with a smile.

“I have a reputation to maintain. I am a very serious woman,” she tells him. He chuckles under his breath. She smiles as well, but that smile fades. “Word of your deeds are spreading. Your actions at Redcliffe and Therinfal, and your work with the refugees.”

“I’m just doing what I can,” he says.

“I know. And I, and many others, are grateful for it,” she says. “I should apologize again, for the way you were treated when we first found you.”

“Your suspicions were well founded. There’s no need to apologize. I understand,” he says.

“Nevertheless. I am glad you remain with us.” He doesn’t sully the moment by reminding her that he has nowhere else to go. They both look up at the sound of tolling bells, instantly rise to their feet.

“Forces approaching! To arms!” Cullen’s voice pierces through all other noise, slicing through shouts and yells, the scramble as all quickly move.

“We should go to the gates,” Cassandra says, a moment before she takes off running towards them. Colors mix and blur as people run around him, a cacophony of color and noise. Overwhelming, and Alexi pulls his echo in, focuses it on Cassandra’s retreating back. Holding his staff tightly, he hurries to catch up with her.

“One watchguard reporting,” Cullen is telling her, “It’s a massive force, with the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asks, Leliana close behind her. The others are gathering as well, looking at the storm that gathers in the distance.

“None.”

“None?” Incredulous disbelief, but the answer soon comes quickly to them all. The Elder One. This has to be him. Even with their forces bolstered by the mages and the Templars, the Inquisition is small. Here, it can be smothered in its crib.

“Bull,” Alexi says.

“Boss.” The instant answer.

“You and the Chargers find all the townsfolk. Anyone who isn’t fighting – take them to the Chantry. Join us when they’re safe,” he says, “and take Cole with you. He can find anyone who might be hiding.”

“You got it. Chargers! Horns up!” At his rallying call, they follow him back into the center of Haven. Leliana has a hand at Josephine’s back, pushing her towards the Chantry as well.

“Blackwall. Solas. Vivienne. Varric. Protect the Chantry, and try to keep the people calm if you can. The last thing we need is a panic. That means quashing rumor and theories, Varric. If you can, take the supplies from Adan’s cabin,” Alexi says. They immediately turn back towards the others. Through the gates comes Harritt, his arms full of tools, Krem close behind him. What the others see in the distance, Alexi doesn’t know. Their silence tells him it isn’t good.

“Just a guess,” Dorian says, “but I bet they’re here for _you_.” A small part of him toys with the idea of walking out into the field by himself.

“The mages stand ready to aid you,” Fiona says breathlessly, having run to find him. Barris is coming in from further down the field, the Templars forming a front line, with Inquisition forces behind them.

“Help Barris. Try and keep them from reaching Haven’s gates,” Alexi tells her.

“We will do what we can.”

“Cullen, what can we do?” Alexi asks. Cullen is glancing over the width of the forces. Red Templars and Venatori alike, all of them mixed into one force. A mirror darkly, of their own forces, and vastly outnumbering them. Their defenses are few. The walls won’t hold back such a force. His gaze drifts over the trebuchets which sit lifelessly nearby.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. The trebuchets can delay them, put holes into their formation. With a bit of luck, they might just cause the snow of the mountains to shift and cause an avalanche,” Cullen says.

“Oi, can’t an avalanche bury us too? I don’t want to die a snowman,” Sera protests.

“I happen to agree with that,” Dorian says.

“It will be our last resort,” Alexi says. “Is there another way out of Haven?”

“The penitents’ path, through the mountains,” Cassandra says. “Although, no one knows the exact path, except for perhaps Roderick.”

“Cole,” Alexi says to the nothing around him. Cole steps out from nothing, stands beside him. A smile, knowing he was nearby. Bull and the others will be here soon, then. “Find Roderick, get him to lead everyone in the Chantry down this path and away from Haven.” A nod, and he disappears once again. Cullen draws his sword as red Templars crest the hill, slip through the lines already drawn.

“Let’s go,” Alexi says. Together, they wade into battle. Bull comes laughing in, smashing his axe down onto a mutilated Templar. The lyrium growing out of its body doesn’t shatter, but instead guides metal into flesh. Practically tearing it in half, they move onto the next. While Alexi covers them in protective spells, Dorian stands beside him and keeps all others from them. At his command, corpses rise to do battle once again.

Sera dances around Krem, taking shelter by his hammer. A force to be reckoned with, they cut a path for Cassandra and Cullen to follow through. Fiona and Barris fight side by side, working in tandem to keep their own forces protected and bolstered. Inquisition soldiers flood around the trebuchets, work towards loading them. From one to the next, but they can’t keep this up. Their lines are spread too thin, and the forces are still coming.

“That is Samson,” Cullen says. “I _know_ him – he’s from Kirkwall.” He’s tearing through the line. Laughing as he does it, his armor covered in the spikes of red lyrium. Cullen’s eyes widen as he watches him, “but I don’t know the woman beside him.” A mage from the look of it, one against whom their own can barely keep up. There’s no time to speculate, even though they stand but a few feet apart from one another. Samson raises his hammer, points it at Cullen, and smiles briefly, before moving to fight once again.

“The last trebuchet!” Cassandra shouts.

“Fire it against the mountain!” Alexi calls back. They aren’t winning this fight. “Cullen! Call the retreat the moment that hits! Get everyone inside the walls!” Soldiers are turning the crank, winding the trebuchet back. Alexi strains at keeping the shield around the area, keeping all enemy forces out. They pound against the barrier as Inquisition swords pierce through easily, try and hold them back. “Fire it now! Please!” He knows when it hits. The very ground beneath them begins to shake. Thunder rolls in the deep and snow falls. What they don’t expect is an answering cry.

A roar that shakes them, a blow that tears Alexi’s barrier to shreds and takes the trebuchet with it. “That,” Dorian says quietly, “is a dragon.”

“That’s a dragon!” Bull calls out excitedly. A _dragon_. His echo doesn’t reach to the sky, but Alexi isn’t certain he wants to see what color it might be. He can hear, feel, the wings flapping overhead. The heat of the flames it spews, the fire that erupts all around them. Whatever time they may have bought has been swiftly made irrelevant.

“Everyone back to the Chantry! Back to the Chantry, go!” Cullen is roaring. Covering their retreat as they work towards the gate, evacuating every soldier they can. Forming a circle around the entrance, they hold it as long as they can for their forces to get inside. Once that’s done, the gates are barred behind them.

“Fiona!” Alexi wraps a hand around Barris’s arm, holds him near. He speaks quickly to the two of them. “Gather everyone. Get them out and follow the others. Through the Chantry.” Haven will be ash. There is no doubt in Alexi’s mind. A race through the streets, and he feels Cole’s hand on his arm, pulling him into the Chantry as the door closes behind them.

“On the hill. Did you see it? That… creature,” Cassandra is speaking in a low voice.

“I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that,” Cole tells her.

“We have no time to speculate,” Leliana says. “We must evacuate faster.”

“The Elder One. He wants me,” Alexi says. They all turn to look at him. “I can –”

“Out of the question,” Cullen says instantly.

“Then, perhaps it’s time for the last resort. Turn the trebuchets on the mountains closest to us. One last avalanche. Bury Haven,” Alexi says. “It will block the penitent’s path. It will keep innocent people from being overrun.” He holds his staff tightly and the bells chime. “I can do this.”

“You aren’t suggesting you go alone?” Cassandra says.

“I am.”

“And when the mountain falls? What about you?” Cullen asks. Alexi casts out his echo. The red is stretched around Cullen, staggering deep in jagged lightning. Blue refuses to calm, swirls a desperate sea. Alexi reaches out, twists a piece of his cloaks fur between his fingers. They all know what his silence means. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way… Perhaps I should come with you.”

“No.” Alexi reaches up to his staff, fingers against a few of the crystals that hang there. Touching one after the other, searching for the right one. Deftly untying it, holding it out in his palm. “Take this,” he says, “make a mark with it against any living thing, and I’ll be able to track you.” Cullen takes it carefully, holds it tightly. Two soldiers run past him, and Cassandra stands beside Cullen.

“They’ve volunteered to load the trebuchets, and turn them in the right direction,” she says. “The dragon and this Elder One… attention must be kept from the Chantry if we are to have a chance.”

“I understand,” Alexi says.

“Trevelyan,” Cullen says suddenly, reaching out, even as Alexi begins to turn towards the doors. His steps pause, and he turns back towards him. Words falter on his tongue, his hand slowly falling back to his side. “Be safe. Look for the mark.” Alexi gives him a bright smile, and pushes open the doors.

“Herald,” one of the soldiers says breathlessly, halfway up the path. “The trebuchet is loaded. All you need to do is cut the cord and it’ll fire.”

“Thank you. Run to safety,” he says. Both of them take off hurrying towards the Chantry. Making spectacle, gathering attention is easy. A deep inhale. A slow exhale. The barrier blooms from his fingertips, flowers all around him. A bright shimmering thing, snowflakes melting as they touch its surface. He moves in a steady line, and he can hear the frenzied shouts of more normal Templars, the groans and grunts of the ones too far gone. Venatori point, attempt to break his barrier. Paltry spells. The path to the trebuchet is straight forward. A dragon’s cry is his welcome.

Crystallized flame bars his way. It had broken his barrier before, it can do so again. The only good thing about it is that the rest of the forces seem to flee at the sight of it. Another blast. A direct hit and Alexi gets sent backwards for the second time in a day, landing roughly on his back. His head spins as he struggles to his hands and knees, searching for his staff. On reflex, he casts out his echo, catches someone he does not expect. The Elder One.

A towering inferno of burning red, deeper black at the core. It’s all twisting color, too many and too muddied. That familiar echoing pain as it lands on red lyrium, his magic being thrown back at him. Too much. Too much of all of it. Rising to his feet, almost to be knocked down again as the dragon lands behind him, keeps any route of escape covered. Roaring at him, echoing in his eardrums, warm breath moving over him like a powerful wind. “Enough.” The Elder One speaks. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” The hatred seeps through in every syllable.

“Whatever you are, I am not afraid,” Alexi says, far more calmly than he feels as he clings to his staff.

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.” He stands in dragons flame, and it does not touch him. “Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will_ that is Corypheus. You will kneel.” Alexi takes a step back.

“I will not.”

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not. I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” At the sound of something Alexi cannot place, he casts out the anchor once again. Blinding – brighter than the Breach! His echo soaked in white, Alexi hisses pain, pulls it back. Corypheus holds something of immense power in the palm of his hand. Whatever he holds, it acts as though it _is_ the Breach. Calling out the mark and it activates instantly.

“It is your fault, ‘Herald.’ You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” The instant he floods his hand with magic, the instant it is dissipated into nothing. It’s as though he’s being flayed, layer after layer being peeled away. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” Corypheus turns his hand, and the pain sparks. Alexi falls to his knees, cradling his hand in his arms, close to his chest. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!”

Despite the horror of it, Alexi has never once thought of the mark as evil. A neutral force, perhaps. But now, something evil twists in it. Something planted in it by Corypheus and the thing he carries. “Why? Why?” it’s all Alexi can say.

Corypheus stands over him. Reaching down, and his touch is corruption to Alexi’s skin. Picking up with little effort, and Alexi’s feet dangle in the air. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person.” Corypheus stares at the mark on his hand. “I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world.” He shakes Alexi like a ragdoll.

“Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and _it was empty_!” The rage yes, so clearly there. But grief, sorrow, taint his words as well. Alexi gasps as Corypheus hefts him through the air, and his back lands heavy against the trebuchet. The bells of his staff land heavy beside him, just as he does. The wood is cold, and the tears run down Alexi’s face. Every breath is painful, and he clutches at his ribs. Something there is broken, now.

“The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” Using the trebuchet to brace himself, Alexi forces himself to stand. One hand on his staff, the other wraps around the rope. “So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation – and god – it requires,” Corypheus says. The dragon seems to echo his words, moving beside him, and a guttural growl in its throat. Alexi prays it’s been time enough. “And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.”

“You expect us to surrender,” Alexi says. Every word is agony, desperate to pull air into his lungs. “You want us to kneel. We will not. Either you die here with me, or you’ll face us all, when we decide.” He’s never been particularly good at fire spells. But it’s enough. Burning around his hand, through the rope. The trebuchet whirls, fires, a mighty blow at the mountain. The avalanche is coming. All Alexi can do is run, as the dragon and Corypheus scream after him.

He wakes with a sob. His clothes are half soaked wet, half frozen completely. Alexi crawls out the water he finds himself in, kneels at the edge of the pool. He must be somewhere under Haven. Touching a hand against his ribs, he whimpers as he finds the break. His magic is almost empty. He can feel it leaking through the anchor. He puts what he can into his ribs, enough for him to walk. His staff a crutch, he goes to his feet. Pressing his hands to his face, he bites his bottom lip and his chin wavers. A shuddering breath, and he lets his hands fall. He has to move.

Each step is slow, unsteady. His echo goes no further than a few steps in front of him. A sound is coming from the anchor. Some low whine, telling of the abuse that Corypheus had seen to. Stepping out from the tunnels, and wind sweeps around him. Snow thick in the air, Alexi shivers. Pulling his robes and sweaters around him, but soaked so, they do nothing. All he can do is move forward. Such effort in walking through the snow, buried up to his knees. Trudging through, unsure of what direction to take. He almost laughs relief when he sees it. Some mark, a bright spot at the edge of his echo. A familiar color, a mark he knows. His crystal had etched it against a tree.

* * *

Cullen stands at the entrance to the clearing they have taken shelter in. Solas stands quietly beside him. They watch the trees sway in the violent wind, unable to see much further past that. Too dark for anything, and the snow only makes it worse. “If Trevelyan does make it back, what will you do?” Solas asks.

“What do you mean?”

“It is clear that the Herald is fond of you. Will you reject his advances? You are a distraction to his purpose, especially now that the Elder One has made himself known.”

“I –”

“You are correct. It isn’t my place. However, I do believe that Trevelyan deserves to know of you what every other mage here does,” he says. “Sheltered in the Circle, they have kept Varric’s book and other rebel propaganda away from him. I imagine others might be eager to tell him your history.”

“I will tell him myself. When the time is right,” Cullen says, an edge to his words.

“Of course,” Solas says with a polite nod. “Good evening Commander.” Turning, walking back to the clearing. Cullen has his arms crossed. In one of his hands, he holds both the crystal and the bag. He holds them tighter, the frown clear on his face. If he makes it back. If he makes it back. Hours pass, and Cullen still stands. In that same place, in the snow, watching the silence all around him. Wolves howl in the distance, and that frenzied knot of worry in his chest only tightens.

A shape. In the darkness. He thinks it might be a trick of the light.

If not for the bells.

“Alexi!” Cullen moves forward, tucking the bag and the crystal into his pocket as he wades through the snow. “Alexi!” Coming more clearly into sight now. He’s practically doubled over in two, his staff being the only thing holding him up. His breathing is audible, a sickening wheeze with every inhale. “Alexi, I have you,” he says, putting an arm around his back, the other under his legs. He picks up Alexi into his arms, and his head rolls against his chest, nestles into the fur of his cloak. His eyes are crusted over with snow, his lips cracked. Still, he smiles.

“That’s the first time you called my name,” Alexi says, as he drifts into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


	4. Vantage Point

“His staff,” Cullen says, looking over his shoulder. Cassandra nods, moves to collect it. Alexi shivers in his arms, his teeth chattering together. All Cullen can do is hold him against him even tighter. Snow crowns his head, all those little stars. To him, he had always seemed some fire on a cool autumn day. Wearing robes of burning orange, deeper browns, sweaters of darker beige and amber reds. Wool and warmth, dark curling hair and freckles on his cheeks. Now he is but winter cold, wrongly frigid. A hand fisted in Cullen’s cloak, his face turned into the fur.

He makes his way down to the camp, where Adan and Mother Giselle are waiting. Cullen goes gently to his knees as he lays Alexi down on the cot. Taking that hand from his cloak, holding it in his. Solas kneels down by his head, puts fingertips against his temples. Closing his eyes, ears flattened and a knot between his brows, Alexi’s shivering slowly eases. “He will need fresh clothing and warm blankets,” Giselle says, brushing away hair from his brow. “He cannot stay in these wet things.”

Hurrying out of the tent, and the flaps flutter closed behind her. They keep him hidden. The Inquisition is flagging as it is. They do not need to see their Herald wounded so badly. He knows Cassandra would be standing guard, perhaps even Blackwall as well. Adan is moving to Alexi’s side, on his knees like the rest of them. Taking the scarf from Alexi’s neck, opening his robes. Hands underneath soaked sweaters, and he puts hands against his body. Moving down, fingertips over bone, and he frowns at what he feels.

“A couple broken ribs, which accounts for the godawful noise coming out of his face,” he says. His breathing is a rattle, a struggle. His touch moves over arms, legs. “Sprained wrist, it looks like. Broken clavicle.” One of his palms is scratched up and bruised. He must have landed heavy, on the outstretched hand, caused the break. “Feet aren’t in great shape from the snow. Other than that?” Adan shrugs.

“I am not proficient in healing. I have weaved a sleeping spell to spare him any unnecessary pain, however we may need to wake him and give him lyrium so that he might help heal himself,” Solas says, opening his eyes. Letting his hands fall from his temples, reaching into the bag beside him for shining blue vials. “There may be one among the mages number that could help as well.”

“And you? Gonna help or are you just gonna sit there?” Adan says. Cullen looks up, startled, realizing he’s being spoken to. He’s still holding Alexi’s hand. Giselle saves him the effort of a reply. Entering with a bundle of clothes in her arms, and someone else beside her, who holds blankets. Cullen wracks his brain for a name, what with so many new faces being added to their ranks.

“Luckily Lady Josephine had some of his things with her,” she says as she sets the bundle by the end of the cot. The blankets are draped over a nearby chair. “I spoke with Fiona and she said that Lysas may be able to help.” A hand on his back, presenting him forward to the others. “I’ll leave you to it.” She ducks gracefully out of the tent.

“I’m not a spirit healer, but I’m the best healer in the camp,” Lysas says, moving beside Adan.

“First things first, let’s get him out of these clothes and see what we’re dealing with. Best to cut him out of those sleeves,” Adan says, drawing a knife from his belt. Cullen does the same. Working quickly and carefully, shearing at the stitches of the cloth. Folding open his clothes, and all of them share the same grim look. Bruises blossom over his chest, in the pattern of his ribs, darkly purple, deeply blue. Cullen looks away for only a moment. A slow exhale, breath fogging in the mountain air, before he turns back to him.

He groans in his sleep, teeth clenching in pain as Lysas presses fingers against his collarbone. Cullen resists the urge to push him away. Underneath his hand, Alexi’s palm is glowing green. Even to him, it seems restless – somehow angry. As though it had been tampered with. He can feel it seeping through the leather of his gloves, against his skin, the pins and needles of it. Another groan, brows knotted together, his head turning towards Cullen. His breathing is still sickly, that deathly rattle. Lysas presses his palm tightly against Alexi’s collarbone, magic trapped between them.

“I’ve set the break, but it will need time to fully heal,” he says. Adan is cleaning out the scrapes on Alexi’s other palm, putting a poultice against it. Wrapping it and his wrist in bandages, while Solas passes Lysas a lyrium potion. He downs it gratefully, and Cullen watches the blue liquid drain from the vial. The glass slipping from his fingers, he focuses his attention on Alexi’s ribs. At that first rough touch, Alexi’s eyelashes flutter, the ragged whimper escaping his lips. That urge again, to push Lysas away, and Cullen can only hold his hand tighter. Solas cradles Alexi’s head, keeps him in sleep.

Light fills the tent as Lysas works, and yet, he’s shaking his head. “It’s – a lot. I’ll do what I can, but it’s not going to fix it completely.” Solas keeps his hands flat on Alexi’s shoulders. On one side, Adan is holding down his arm. At the other, Cullen. Lysas presses harder, and Alexi thrashes with a sudden and agonizing howl.

He wakes with a weighted flood in his chest. The feeling floods him soon enough. Gasping for breath, wheezing with pain, and his hands clutch at the side of the cot. Wincing as he tries to lift himself up, and he feels a hand gently put at his shoulder. “Lie down,” Cullen says. Turning his head towards the voice and it’s only now that he realizes Cullen’s cloak is draped around him. The fur is warm beneath him, and he knows his clothes have been changed. Protected under blankets and Cullen still has his hand against his shoulder.

“I have someone who was very worried about you,” Cullen says. He’s been sitting beside the cot all night. He reaches into his lap, picks up Boots, and places him on the space beside Alexi. The cat immediately rubs his face against his cheek, purrs as he curls up around his head as though he were a halo. “I found him hiding in the dungeons before we left the Chantry.” Alexi licks at dry lips, presses a hand against his ribs. Cullen puts a hand underneath his head, helps raise him to drink water from the cup that he holds. Boots, offended at the shift, moves even closer once Alexi’s head is back on the pillow.

“What’s happened?” he asks, his voice barely rising above a whisper. “How long have I been asleep? Is – is there anyone else here?”

“It’s just us. You’ve been kept asleep for about a day,” Cullen says softly.

“Cullen.” Alexi is shifting, reaching out, winding a hand into his tunic and pulling him closer. “The Elder One, he’s one of the Magisters who went into the Fade. He said I _stole_ the anchor from him. I don’t remember, how did I – was that – the Conclave, I –” his breathing is quickening, the hand tightening in his shirt. Cullen doesn’t know what possesses him. Leaning down, wrapping arms around him, and hugging him close.

“It’s alright. None of this was your fault,” he tells him. Alexi clings to him, hands scrabbling at his back. Cullen listens to the way his panicked breathing begins to ease, and holds him still. Even when a cat paw begins to swat at his hair.

“Cullen,” Alexi says hoarsely. In the few months he’s known him, he’s always thought him untouchable. He’d never seen spells like his before, so defensively powerful. That someone could break through… he could have been gone. In an instant. Without realizing, Cullen hugs him tighter. “ _Ow_.”

Letting go immediately, Cullen rocks backwards, his hands planting themselves on his knees. Alexi slowly lets his arms fall back to his side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – are you injured? Should I get Adan? The others wanted to speak to you as well, when you woke,” Cullen is saying as he pushes himself up to stand, “I should let them know you’re awake. Oh! Oh.” Reaching into his pocket, holding the bag that Alexi had given him. “Perhaps you should hold onto this for now.” Bending over, placing it in his hand.

“You should take your cloak,” Alexi says as his hand tightens around the charm. “I’m practically drowning in blankets.”

“Only if you’re certain.”

“I doubt half the Inquisition will recognize you without it,” he tells him with a smile. Boots is already moving by the time Cullen reaches for it, curling under the crook of Alexi’s arm. A hand underneath the nape of Alexi’s neck, raising his head just enough to slip the cloak out from under him. Dark curls brush against the back of his hand. Lowering his head gently back down, and he shrugs on the cloak.

“Cullen,” Alexi calls out as he begins to leave. “Thank you.” Holding the flap of the tent, Cullen pauses. Looking over his shoulder, back at the cot.

“I did nothing,” he says. The next time he returns to the tent, he stands at the very back, his arms crossed. The tent is suffocating with people, practically fit to burst. Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine sit very near Alexi, while Mother Giselle and the rest fan out around them. At the first mention of Corypheus’s name, Varric covers his mouth with his hand. Vivienne is standing close to Alexi, her hand outstretched, fingers moving as though she’s pulling string. Cullen doesn’t need lyrium to recognize the weaving of magic, imbuing Alexi with whatever strength she has to give. He can see Fiona, just behind her, doing much of the same.

He doesn’t see Cole, but knows the spirit must be around somewhere. Iron Bull is hunched over in the tent, to keep his horns from poking through the canvas. Sera is spacing in the small space she can find, between Dorian and Blackwall. Solas stands beside Cullen, hands clasped behind his back, quietly listening to Alexi speak. Barris does the same. Alexi is propped up on pillows, against one of the tents supports, Boots sitting in his lap. He stares at the mark on his hand. “Corypheus called it the anchor. He caused the Breach to go into the Fade. He said that I’m now a rival,” he says. “I think he wants to sit in the Golden City and call himself a god.”

He closes his hand into a fist. Frowning again, and he sighs. “He’s going to come for the Inquisition again,” he says.

“We have scouts watching for any sign of Corypheus’s forces, but so far, the mountains have been calm. We need to find a place to regroup,” Leliana says.

“I may know of a place. It is ancient, and likely in disrepair, but it is remote and unknown,” Solas says.

“We must also have a leader,” Cassandra says, looking once over the room before looking back at Alexi, “the one who has already been leading it. The Herald should be formally made Inquisitor.” There’s no argument. No one who protests. Except for Alexi, whose shoulders slowly fall. He shakes his head.

“I’m no leader,” he says.

“You brought together both the mages and the Templars. You have sealed the Breach twice, and now you have fought an ancient Magister,” she says.

“I wouldn’t say what I did is considered fighting,” Alexi says.

“You are that creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us. The people already look up to you. They already consider you our leader. I believe that no one but you can carry this burden,” she tells him. “There would be no Inquisition without you.” Alexi doesn’t know what faces the people around him make. The way they look to him, wait for his answers. Their silence tells him enough.

“We saw our defender stand… and fall,” Giselle says. She reaches out, a gentle brush of her hand against Boots, scratching just underneath his ear. “And now, we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the moor our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What ‘we’ have been called to endure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe?”

“Perhaps I was meant for this, but that didn’t help at Haven,” he says. “I didn’t die. I didn’t stand a chance against Corypheus.”

“You were alone then. You are not anymore,” she says, moving her hand back to her lap.

“I’ve – tried. To be what the people need. If this is what you’ve decided, then,” he struggles with the words until he nods, “I’ll do my best.”

“Then we will go to this place that Solas mentioned. Once there, we’ll announce for all that you are the Inquisitor. For now, rest,” Cassandra says. One by one, they all leave. One by one, except for Solas. He takes a quiet seat beside Alexi.

“I would like to discuss what Corypheus carried with him,” he says. “What you saw was an orb, of Elven origin. They were foci, used to channel ancient magicks. I have seen such things in the Fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His Empire’s magic was built on the bones of my people. Knowing or not, he puts all elves at risk. I cannot allow it.”

“It doesn’t matter where it came from or how he got it, the fault lies with Corypheus alone,” Alexi says. He doesn’t see Solas smile, look down at the hands folded in his lap. “I assume this place you want to take us is also of Elven origin.”

“Yes,” he says.

“I would say that evens things out,” he says with a smile. Boots is turning in his lap, kneading paws against his thighs.

“By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed _you_. You must be the one to lead the people, not I. You will be the one to take them to Skyhold, and safety. There, the Inquisition can build, and grow. I will help you, but this must be your task. I fear the first of many,” Solas tells him.

“I understand. Thank you Solas,” Alexi says.

“Now, you should rest. We have a long journey ahead of us,” he says as he stands. Alexi slides down with a sigh, Boots making his displeasure known about this adjustment. He settles for playing with the bandages around Alexi’s wrist. In his other hand, he holds the bag Cullen had returned to him, and tucks it underneath his pillow.

* * *

Boots circles around his feet as he walks across the battlements. Halfway to the tower, Alexi pauses. A book in his arms, he takes a moment to simply listen. Skyhold has filled up with sound in the past few days. Voices clamor over each other, laughter at the edges. He smiles as he hears footsteps, the sound of soldiers marching below him. The heavy swing of a hammer against metal, the horses in the barn, and the construction undertaken to repair the fortress. It’s all new, and wonderful.

Boots hops up onto the battlements, and moves right to stand on Alexi’s shoulders. Batting at his hood, settling inside of it. Josephine had been more than generous, giving him plenty of new robes and sweaters, not to mention luxurious quarters he isn’t sure he deserves. They’ve also given him run of the garden, working alongside Elan and Adan. His own space to work beside Dagna and Harritt… it’s almost overwhelming.

His injuries have mostly healed, thanks to the attentiveness of others, and his own magic directed inward. It hadn’t stopped him from nearly buckling when he lifted the sword Cassandra gave him to crown him Inquisitor. A stitch in his ribs and in his lungs, he was relieved when he could hand it back to her. A hand drifting over stone, and he’s walking again. Boots is a warm weight on his back, and he doesn’t have his staff with him. Within the walls of Skyhold, he feels safe enough without it.

The door is never closed completely, and so Alexi simply pushes it open. “If you’ve a report, leave it on the pile,” Cullen says, without looking up from his desk. Writing furiously, an elbow planted on his desk and his other hand at his forehead. Alexi simply walks forward and stands in front of him. “I said – Maker’s breath! Inquisitor, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“There isn’t anyone else here,” Alexi tells him.

“Right.” Cullen clears his throat as he puts down his quill. “Alexi. What can I do for you?” 

“I actually came to ask you a favor,” he says with a smile, holding out the book to him. “Could you read this to me?” His eyebrows rise as he reaches out and takes the book.

“Oh. The Tale of the Champion,” he says as he leans back in his chair, flips through the pages. He’s only read it once before. There was a morbid curiosity in it. Strange, to hear personal events known to strangers. He knows all the parts that feature him. They are unkind, and deservedly so. A reflection of the person he was then. He wants to be better. He looks up at Alexi, still smiling, gaze drifting, his hands clasped behind his back. He sways on his feet, moved by some unheard music. His head slightly tilted, curls of hair across his forehead. Would that smile change if Alexi knew how he was then?

“Varric told me that he sent for Hawke a while ago. She’ll be here soon. Tomorrow, I’d guess. I’d like to know more about her, and what happened in Kirkwall before she arrives,” he says.

“And you didn’t just ask Varric? Maker knows he loves to talk about that woman,” Cullen says as he closes the book, rises from the chair. Fingertips still pressed against the desk and Alexi shrugs.

“I thought he might be a little less biased in the book,” he says. Cullen chuckles under his breath and shakes his head.

“He most certainly is not.”

“Please Cullen? I’d feel awkward asking anyone else.” Rather unfair of him, to ask that way. Biting his bottom lip, rocking back on the balls of his feet, and looking far too hopeful. Cullen sighs.

“Alright, but we’re not reading it in my office. Would you be alright climbing a ladder?”

“I think I can manage,” Alexi says as he nods. Nevertheless, as Cullen rounds the desk, he puts a hand at the small of Alexi’s back and guides him toward the ladder. Ensuring his hands are properly on the rungs, watching him as he climbs before he follows suit. When he reaches the top, he finds Alexi standing underneath the hole in his roof, a hand raised to the air.

“Is there – is there no roof here?” Alexi asks, turning his hand just in time to catch a snowflake on his palm.

“I quite like the mountain air,” he says, doesn’t tell him about the nightmares that plague him. Waking up in a sweat, overheating and desperate. It’s the cool wind, blanket of stars and the snow that drifts which brings him back to himself. Alexi doesn’t question it and simply lowers his hand.

“I’m afraid there’s only my bed to sit on,” Cullen tells him.

“And yet I think my quarters are overly furnished,” Alexi says. “I should have them move some of the couches and chairs to your room.” Finding the end of the bed with his fingertips, he moves to sit upon it. Cullen is almost startled when Boots suddenly emerges from his hood, settles into his lap. The cat looks almost too pleased with itself, purring as he stares up at him with green eyes.

“No thank you. I’m quite fine with things as they are,” he says. Cullen puts the book on the table beside the desk as he shrugs off his cloak. Undoing the clasps of his gauntlets, taking off his gloves. Settling all the bits and pieces of his armor aside, until he’s in naught but his tunic and trousers. Only then does he take a seat beside Alexi, shoulder against shoulder. He’s absentmindedly scratching the cat’s head, lithe fingers moving in the space between his ears.

“Before I forget, I also brought something back for you,” Alexi says, reaching into a pocket. He pulls free something that he recognizes. The bag. He places it in Cullen’s palm. He must have re-woven the spells, for it’s just as calming as the day he first received it. “I made it for you, but it seems like I’ve been putting it to more use lately.”

“You needed it,” Cullen says.

“And now it’s yours again.” Cullen smiles as he closes his fist around it. Holding it briefly, before he tucks it underneath his pillow.

“Are you ready?” he asks. Alexi nods eagerly.

Cullen takes a deep breath, and opens the book. “There have been many things said about Hawke. About where she came from, how she settled in Kirkwall, and all the things she’s done. All those things miss out on who Hawke is. But I know,” he says, beginning to read. Beside him, Alexi settles in closer. Varric makes storytelling easy. A natural rhythm to every sentence, nothing too complicated in the words. This was written for a broad audience. He wanted people to know Hawke, just as he did. From her departure from Ferelden, to her arrival in Kirkwall, and that first year spent making a name for herself on the streets. By the time he arrives at Hawke’s first meeting with the Arishok, Cullen feels a weight rest slowly on his shoulder.

They’ve been working Alexi to the bone. All over Ferelden and Orlais, doing what he can, where he needs to be. It’s no wonder he’s tired. Cullen slowly closes the book, sets it aside. Evening has given way to night, pale moonlight shining through the patchwork of wood that makes up what little roof he has. He reaches out, puts a hand on Alexi’s arm. “Alexi, you should go to your own quarters. Get some sleep,” he says. There isn’t a proper reply. Some low groaning thing, and Alexi’s only leaning more and more into him.

Boots moves when Alexi turns, practically buries his face in Cullen’s chest. A hand slung over him, clinging to his tunic. Cullen is wide eyed, looks around the empty room. Slowly, he frees his arm from underneath Alexi. Briefly, he lets arm wrap around Alexi’s shoulders. Warm, moving closer to Cullen, Alexi breathes evenly. Dark freckles against olive skin, the lighter tint of the birthmark over his upper lip.

Dangerous, Cullen thinks to himself. He draws his arm back. Moving as slowly as he can, desperate not to disturb him. He unwinds Alexi’s fingers from his shirt. Holding his head as he slowly lowers him down, moving the pillow underneath him. Feet against the floor and he turns back to the bed. Rolling over the blanket as much as he’s able, trying to cover as much as Alexi as he can. Boots is curled in the crook of his legs, watching Cullen carefully. He’s slept in his chair before, doesn’t mind much to do it again. He grabs his cloak as he goes.

The fog of waking hangs over him as he yawns, stretches out. Boots mews as he’s shifted by Alexi’s legs, and he hears the gentle taps of cat’s paws moving to the floor. Rolling over, and he’s struck by how differently the bed feels. Did he leave a window open last night? Cold air on his skin and Alexi very suddenly sits up. _This is Cullen’s bed_. Casting out the echo, and he breathes a sigh when he finds that Cullen isn’t there. Boots hitches a ride on his shoulders as he slowly makes his way down the ladder. Not in his office, either.

There’s something quite clandestine in sneaking out of Cullen’s office. It’s only when he’s down the stairs by the courtyard does he realize he left the book behind. His ears perk when he hears his voice. “No, point your shield downward. You’re asking to get your face burned off.” Ah, morning drills, then. Grass changes to dirt, and Alexi stands by the fence. The sound of wooden sticks, practice swords, play off of one another, as Cullen’s familiar color spars with someone he doesn’t know.

“Sorry Commander,” the recruit says. Exhaustion in his every breath, in every word, and Alexi feels sorry for the poor man. No doubt Cullen is working him to the bone. It’s only when the recruit is knocked to the ground for the second time that he intervenes.

“Commander,” he calls out, “I was wondering if you would teach me.”

“I – what?” Composing himself, turning to the recruit. “You’re dismissed,” Cullen says.

“I’m rather lacking in anything offensive, and it would probably help if I could defend myself better with my staff,” Alexi says. Bored with this, Boots moves from his shoulder, no doubt to disappear into the abandoned tunnels underneath Skyhold. Even without the echo, Alexi knows Cullen has moved closer to the fence. The scent of sweat, something oak and earthy.

“Did you just wake up?” Cullen chuckles as he reaches out, smooths down a lick of Alexi’s hair that’s sticking out awkwardly. He snatches his hand back quickly, as if realizing exactly what he’s doing. He clears his throat. “I’d be happy to help.”

Once in the ring, Alexi throws one of his robes over the fence. In his boots and trousers, but still wearing a shirt, a large baggy sweater. “Are you sure you won’t be too warm?” Cullen asks, as he hands him one of the wooden staffs. Alexi shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he says.

“I must admit, I’m not sure how this will work with your – your eyesight,” Cullen says. Alexi smiles. There’s no particular reason why he hasn’t told anyone exactly how his echo works yet. He has no doubt that the other mages have pieced together exactly how it works. Perhaps he simply wants to show off. “Be ready.” Staff meets staff. Cullen seems surprised for only the briefest moment. His next strike is a little quicker, and the next even more so.

“Is there a reason you never learned offensive spells?” Cullen asks, as they enter a rhythm.

“I know what people say about mages. Even before I was sent to the Circle. There, however, you couldn’t escape it. Every lesson was finished with the fact that mages are dangerous. It was in every word the Templars spoke. That we’re nothing but… demons, destruction… death waiting to happen. I wanted to be different. I wanted to be the thing that no one thinks a mage is. Just, a person,” Alexi tells him.

“I’m sorry.” He wants to say more, but isn’t sure what words would be right. Instead there’s just the guilt, his past beating at his back, knowing he was the same. Knowing he made countless mages feel the same. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“It’s alright. I have been practicing some with Vivienne. It’s just – they don’t come easy to me. I don’t _want_ to fight, and I’ve never had to before. I’m awful at it. Even if she doesn’t say so, she thinks the same. Her sighs give it away,” he says. Cullen chuckles.

“Hopefully you won’t have to. You have the whole of the Inquisition behind you now, and that force is growing every day,” he says. As if speaking his words into being, Alexi hears something or someone hop over the fence with ease.

“Rutherford you son of a bitch.” Someone, then. Alexi holds the practice staff in his hands, and when he casts his echo, this woman is made of the deepest reds he’s ever seen before. She comes up to him quickly, knocks Cullen into the dirt with a swift blow. His jaw dropping, Alexi raises the barrier around them both, keeps this red at bay. She tests it with magic of her own, little needles against it, until she finally laughs. “You must be the Inquisitor,” she says. “Varric’s told me all about you. I’m Hawke.” Alexi is helping Cullen to his feet, and he rubs his jaw.

“That was uncalled for,” Cullen says.

“You deserve it. Now,” Hawke says, hands on her hips as she looks around, “where’s my dwarf?” She’s already beginning to walk away. Alexi turns towards Cullen, but he only waves him away. Alexi hurries after her, grabbing his robe, as she begins to climb the stairs to the battlements. Found in a corner, a box of Kirkwall beer beside him.

“Birdie!” He says when he sees her, moving to his feet. Varric’s always been a smooth yellow. An even tone of resilience.

“Varric!” Laughter as they embrace, whispering soft words to each other. When they kiss, Alexi can see their colors turning, mixing, the same orange spreading through the both of them.

“Inquisitor, this is Marian Hawke. Better known as the Champion of Kirkwall,” Varric says, turning to him. Hawke throws back her head and laughs.

“I don’t particularly go by that title much anymore. I’m here to help where I can, Inquisitor. Varric told me about this ‘red future’ you saw. Said that Corypheus was working with Wardens? I got in touch with the best Warden I know. Carver, my brother,” she says. “He’s discovered something. He’s in the Western Approach, waiting for us.”

* * *

Dearest Josephine, We have reached the dreadful Approach. Alexi does send his best. We have met with the Grey Warden Hawke, and he has informed us that every Warden in Orlais is under the impression that they will all be dead soon. Corypheus has managed to manipulate something called ‘the Calling’. Regards, Vivienne.

Lels, we’ve taken a bloody fortress! Them Venatori and Templars were holding it, but we snuck it out from under them, yeah? It’s ours now. Alexi says it’s called ‘Griffon Wing Keep’. Send us some troops to keep it! Sera. ( _A crude sketch is drawn on the rest of the page, with what seems to be Sera, wearing a crown, standing over the Keep_.)

Commander Cullen, troops have arrived to hold Griffon Wing. The Inquisitor has been helping us secure the region. He went not long ago with the Grey Warden and Hawke to investigate a structure the Warden pointed out. An old ritual tower. A Tevinter magister, Erimond, is teaching mage Wardens how to bind demons by sacrificing Wardens with no magical talent. He managed to slip away from the Inquisitor’s grasp, but Warden Carver has found out where he went. Adamant fortress. It’s been standing since the second Blight. Commander, you’d better find some trebuchets and get out here before the Inquisitor decides to try and storm Adamant himself. Signed, Rylen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/post/146678434099)


	5. Feeble Dreams

“So this is the worst. Why do Wardens always build their fortresses out in the middle of nowhere?” Hawke says, a hand over her brow, trying to find some relief from the relentless sun.

“Mystique,” Carver tells her. She instantly snorts amusement.

“Their little mess of secrecy is what got us into this,” Varric says, “shouldn’t everyone know about the Calling?” Carver, with his arms crossed, raises an eyebrow. Shifting slightly to look at him, and he shakes his head.

“We barely get any recruits as it is. How many people do you think would join if they knew there was a time limit to it? You saw Larius. He was steps away from becoming a ghoul. Who would give up a normal life for that?” he says. 

“Good point,” Varric says. Hawke is staring at Carver, almost a mirror image. Both of them stand tall with their arms crossed, black hair and bright blue eyes.

“What?” Carver asks.

“I’m trying to imagine you bald,” she says. “ _Ghoulish_.” Carver groans, gives her shoulder a playful shove. She grins as she rights herself, and for a moment, after Carver looks away, some different expression crosses her face. A brief flash of a pained thing, lips turned downward, brows twisted together. Varric sees it. He takes her hand in his, raises it to his lips. She smiles at the kiss, and that strained red eases. Alexi goes to stand beside Carver, at the same surprising height. It had baffled Hawke at first. _Two baby giraffes_ , she said.

A patchwork of tents surround the keep. Dotted dark spots against the sand of the Approach. The sappers are gathered together, and the Inquisition makes ready to march on Adamant. A strange feeling to cast his echo, find a mixture of everything. He knows they wear armor of the Inquisition. Gathered, under his order. “This almost feels – wrong,” Alexi says. “The Wardens are heroes.” Stories were all they had in the Circle. Stories of those travelling across Thedas, trying to save it. The Wardens were always a favorite.

“Heroes who are just people, and people make mistakes,” Carver says.

“And Clarel is making quite the mistake,” Hawke says.

“A distinctly un-hero like mistake,” Varric says, “One the real heroes will fix.” Hawke reaches upwards, chimes one of the bells on Alexi’s staff. Holding one of the crystals in her fist carefully, and Alexi smiles as he feels it suddenly ring with power, a mark that is distinctly Hawke’s own.

“What about after this?” she says, “what’s next for the Inquisitor?”

“Orlais, Josephine tells me. To the Winter Palace, to attend peace talks for the civil war. We think that’s the most likely time for Corypheus to strike against the Empress. After that – I’m not sure. He’s gone after something from ancient elvhen before, so he might try to do that again,” Alexi says.

“Ancient and elven? I think I know something that might fit the bill, and someone who knows a lot more about it than I do. I’ll write a letter, and see if she can chime in with anything helpful,” she says. “Maybe we’ll figure it out before Corypheus can get his hands on anything. Get the jump on him.”

“I’d appreciate any help. Thank you Hawke,” he says. She ruffles his hair fondly, as one might do for a younger sibling.

“Inquisitor. We’ll be ready by nightfall,” Cassandra says as she walks up to the group.

“Is there anything I can do until then?” Alexi asks.

“Don’t run off,” is all she can offer. Hawke laughs, and moves even closer to Cassandra. She’s already shying away, but Hawke slings an arm over her shoulders, and keeps her in her grasp.

“Now that we’ve finally and formally met, Seeker, I’d love to know what Varric told you about me,” she says. Cassandra’s shoulders are hunched together, her grip tight over the hilt of her sword. Somehow, Hawke has managed to shrink her, make the mighty Cassandra small. Her face is flushed red, the shell of her ears a bright scarlet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles.

“And then I’ll tell you what Varric told me about _you_ ,” she says.

“Either way, I can feel this turning bad for me,” Varric says, “I’m going back to the Keep, and I’m going to enjoy some shade. While I’m still alive.”

“If I don’t get out of this sun, I _will_ die,” Carver says, turning to walk beside Varric. Alexi stands for a moment longer, before heading for the keep as well. His boots sink slightly into the sand, every grain shifting underneath his weight. It’s a feeling he’s gotten used to, after the weeks spent in the Approach with Hawke and the rest. Adamant, and then Skyhold. The idea of it relieves him. He’s come to think of Skyhold as home. He never thought he’d find another, not after the Circle.

Leliana finds him the instant he steps into the Keep. “Josephine is at Skyhold, continuing negotiations with Orlais. We’ve had many offers by nobles who wish to be the one to bring you to the Winter Palace. Josie will ensure we choose the right one,” she says. “Cullen is with Rylen, discussing battle plans. Here for only minutes and already giving Rylen a headache. You should go and say hello.” He doesn’t know the smile that spreads across her face, the sly look she’s giving him, with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Thank you Leliana,” he says. Her purple has been calmer these days, far from the more broiling restlessness it had been when they first met. As he traverses the keep, he keeps an appreciation for the consideration the workers have given him. A path clear of lumber and stone, all the tools they need to repair the crumbling walls. Up the stairs of the keep, and he can hear the banners flying overhead. Sera’s told him that she thinks they’re ugly. Large swathes of cloth – shade so desperately needed. They shift in the slight breeze, just as the sand moves over stone.

Voices, all around him. Some he’s heard before, some strange to his ears. Some far more familiar. “If we can knock down this wall, we can cut off reinforcements from that opening. We could narrow it down to this choke, and limit those trying to get past us.” As Alexi walks forward, Cullen’s voice grows ever louder. “We’d need to direct the sappers here, and then we could send the ladders here.” He’s bent over a small table, pointing at certain places to what Alexi is sure is a map. A breeze, the cloth moving overhead, and the bells on his staff chime. Cullen immediately turns around to see him.

“Inquisitor! It’s – it’s good to see you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re tan – well, tanner, I – you know what I mean, maker’s breath.” Vivienne’s gaze narrows, shifting between the two of them, before she rolls her eyes. Rylen hides his smile with a well-placed hand, and a low cough.

“Welcome to the Approach, Commander,” Alexi says as he goes to stand between Cullen and Rylen. “Are you going over the plan for tonight? Was Cole’s information helpful?”

“Yes it was. The plans of Adamant that Josephine found were a little outdated,” Cullen says.

“It’s more to the fact that Adamant is already falling to pieces,” Vivienne says. “Surely this siege will be the last thing it needs to finally knock that foul structure into the dirt. It’s been too long since that keep has been used for anything remotely _positive_.”

“Maybe that’s what we should do after we clear out the Wardens. The Chargers can make sure nothing remains of it,” Bull says.

“Let’s win the battle first. Have you thought on who you’d like to take into Adamant with you?” Cullen asks.

“Hawke, Carver and Varric,” Alexi says, counting them off with his fingers, “I’m hoping that Blackwall being with us will earn us some trust with the Wardens not fully convinced by Clarel. I was thinking Cassandra as well.”

“You could use the support of another, properly trained, mage,” Vivienne tells him. Alexi chuckles under his breath and shakes his head.

“I have Hawke. She’s more than capable.” She gives a displeased huff, making her disagreement in that statement more than obvious. Alexi only smiles even wider. She often reminds him of his friends at the Circle. Protective.

At the mention of Hawke, Cullen looks around, as though he fears she might be right behind him. Unconsciously, he rubs his jaw. “Right, I’ll work with Leliana and place other members of your inner circle with groups of our men,” he says. “If that’s all? Then dismissed.” He sighs as everyone else slowly departs, until it’s only Alexi standing beside him.

“Alexi.” It’s still momentarily strange, to hear his name properly. Trevelyan. Herald. Inquisitor. Alexi now, when they’re alone. “You should try and get some sleep before tonight,” Cullen tells him. “The last thing we need is anyone asleep on their feet during the battle.”

“I’ve never fought in anything like this before. I’ve heard stories but those are just… stories. I don’t know if I can sleep. I don’t know how to do this,” he says.

“It will be loud, chaotic. It will also smell awful, I’m warning you right now. Just – stay with Cassandra and the others, and don’t get separated. You’ll have the whole of the Inquisition with you. It’ll be alright,” he says.

“I’m asking people to march into battle where they – I know it’s foolish to hope that Clarel would listen to us, and stop this before it began,” he says.

“Desperate people resort to desperate things,” Cullen says softly. “She’s scared for herself and for her people, and making foolish decisions based on that fear.”

“You talk as though you speak from experience,” Alexi says.

“Perhaps.” He wants to ask if that’s why Hawke dislikes him. Every attempt at asking Hawke was met with barking laughter, murmuring as she simply walked away. Carver always said he didn’t want to get into it. Varric would only give half answers. She is a mage. He was a Templar. He can hear the reluctance in Cullen’s voice, the hesitation, and so he doesn’t press.

“Will you be part of the battle?” Alexi asks instead.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be directing your troops where needed,” he says.

“Then maybe more than one of us should get some sleep,” he says. Holding his staff loosely, fingers that tap against the gnarled wood. Shifting from arm to arm, bells ringing, crystals and stones knocking against one another. The one that Hawke filled with her mana sounds different now, sparking little bits of static as it rubs against the others.

“You’re probably right,” Cullen chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck absentmindedly. “I’m going to look over the plans with Leliana one last time.” Alexi can hear him gathering books, papers, and a deep sigh as he rolls up the plans of Adamant.

Alexi curls up on one of the cots in the lower levels of the keep. He doesn’t toss, he doesn’t turn, but still sleep doesn’t take him. He sits up when he feels a weight at the bottom of the cot. He needs only the barest breath of his echo to know that it’s Hawke. She burns so brightly, that conflicted red. “I don’t think I’ve told you before how brilliant I think that is. A bit of force magic to find the edges, and the healing to root deep inside. Your magic feels a bit like how Anders’ used to,” she says.

“What was he like?” Alexi asks. The pointed edges of her gauntlets pull at a loose thread of her trousers.

“Everyone’s already made up their minds about him. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, nothing will change their opinion of him, or what he did. I learned that the hard way, in the weeks after.” As she speaks, her red pulses deeper. He wonders what color she used to be, before hiding from the Chantry, before the explosion, before being the Champion of Kirkwall. It’s one of the reasons he’s afraid to look at his own. Will his colors betray his becoming someone he no longer recognizes? “But he was my friend. I should have fought harder for him,” she says.

Alexi move to sit closer to her, shoulder against shoulder, feet planted on the ground. “I wanted to thank you. For believing Carver and I about how serious this is with the Wardens. I think you’re the first person I’ve met who didn’t immediately go to mark their door to ward off evil. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m usually thought of as bad luck,” she says, amusement on the edges of her words.

“I don’t see how us sitting in the middle of a desert about to fight an army of possessed Wardens and demons could be thought of as bad luck,” Alexi says. He’s learned that her sense of humor is fatalistic, grim, but her laughter is the most whole thing he’s ever heard. It encompasses all of her, shakes her shoulders, moves her feet.

“Hey, have you been told to get some sleep? I think five different people have told me that I should sleep before the battle. The only people who can sleep before a battle are psychopaths,” she says as she shakes her head. “Which is why I came to ask you if you wanted to join Varric, Carver and I for a little game of diamondback. Don’t worry, I’ll help you with the cards.”

“Yes, please,” Alexi says, reaching for his staff.

* * *

Hawke stands beside him. Her hair whirls in the wind of the trebuchet, a beacon of flame that streaks across the night sky. It finds its target in the west wall. Alexi takes comfort in her ease, her hunger for battle. She is a force that moves ever forward, and he is happy to follow in her wake. They move forward with the troops. Hawke and Alexi find their place on either side of the battering ram. The barrier goes up, surrounds them as they march forward. Lit arrows bounce away from it, rocks slide against it. The Wardens seek to stop their approach, but nothing can stop them now.

An arrow finds purchase in the throat of an Inquisition soldier, and he falls from the ladder that was being raised. Alexi bites his lip, pretends he doesn’t hear the heavy sound of a body breaking against the ground. The screams, the shouting, and his echo finds so many colors fighting against one another. The possessed Wardens are easy to find, that pitch in the heart of them, but the majority are simply fighting because their commander ordered them to. In death, sacrifice.

Wood splinters as the battering ram bursts through. Soldiers flood inside, while the rest march in behind. Cassandra, Carver and Blackwall weave around Hawke and Alexi, join the soldiers in clearing the area. The sound of Bianca is steady, one bolt after the other. Alexi weaves renewed energy into their muscles, protects them with a barrier well placed. Hawke is on display, and with a push of her hand, sends the Wardens in their way flying. She makes them targets for the rest to finish. Her aggression comes easy to her, just as Alexi’s defense is second nature to him.

“Pull!” she calls as she lifts enemies into the air. A well-placed bolt from Bianca finds their mark in each of them. They make a natural team, the two of them, and even when they aren’t touching, their colors still seek each other. Swirling as they talk to each other, as they fight together.

“Another one for me! How many have you got, Birdie?”

“Oh, don’t even try and tell me those don’t count for me too!” Hawke tells him. They’re all breathless as the last demon is felled, as the last Warden standing in their way is cut down. Cullen puts a hand on Alexi’s shoulders.

“All right, Inquisitor. You have your way in. Best make sue of it while it’s still there. We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can,” he says.

“We’ll be fine. Don’t risk the troops for my sake,” Alexi says.

“We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor.” It’s spoken gruffly, with such determination. “Just – be safe, Alexi,” Cullen says, his voice much softer.

“See you soon,” he says, as he turns, anchors himself to the colors of those closest to him. Cassandra and Carver are a sure green in the chaos, determined and focused. Blackwall is more conflicted, but easily found. He keeps track of the warriors as they stray, clear their path forward. The keep is a mixture of sand dunes and broken stone, with twisting corridors. Walls were falling even before now, held in place by a mixture of mortar and prayer.

“I am a Warden, like you!” Carver barks out at a warrior caught behind his blade. “Clarel is being tricked. You all are! The Inquisition doesn’t want to kill you, they want to help you.” Blackwall is doing the same at every turn as well, and slowly, those they manage to convince crowd around them. It makes their moving through Adamant easier, as the only ones in their way become the demons, and the mage Wardens who are already lost.

“Perhaps Clarel will be able to be reasoned with,” Alexi says hopefully, as they race along the battlements. His arm is shaking. His mark hungers. It senses the Rift being opened nearby. Mages are tearing at the fabric of the veil, bleating at the song, ripping it asunder to pull Maker knows what through. No doubt Erimond is behind that as well. All these things they’re making the Wardens do… It only moves him forward faster.

Cullen beats back the shade with his shield. Cole flits around the edge of his vision, reappearing at the shade’s back, burying his daggers deep. It collapses in shadows, and they move onto the next. Vivienne turns the fire of the rage demon into mist, while Solas raises spikes of ice into it. Dorian and Bull are on the battlements, keeping the way clear for reinforcements. Sera’s laughter can be heard here and there, as she bounces her way around, helping who she needs. Even Leliana stands with them, quiver at her back and bow in her hands.

They’re holding. They _will_ hold. Cullen moves methodically, lost in the fight. Block, parry. Strike forward. Next. Sweat down his temples, his back, and the headache beating at the back of his skull. Not now. He can’t afford this now. Solas whirls his staff, strikes down a possessed mage that screams her way towards them. Cullen silences her with his blade. All of them come to a standstill when they hear it. It breaks over metal, over the cacophony of battle.

The dragon roars, and Adamant is silenced.

Stone crumbles underneath its claws. Spewing hot crystalized fire over the structure, high up in the tower of the keep. Where they assumed Clarel would be. Where Alexi is. Cullen immediately takes off running, keeping the dragon in sight. He’s surprised to find Cole next to him, the others following in tow. They watch as the dragon spreads its wings, towards the others trapped on the decaying bridge. Such small figures, so far away. Adamant was once the fortress which guarded the Abyssal Rift. The deep chasm that run as far down as the Deep Roads.

The dragon roars, the dragon walks, the remaining bridge crumbles. They watch as the Inquisitor, Hawke and all the rest crumble with it. A flash of green, and they are gone. Some strangled noise traps itself in Cullen’s throat. “He opened a Rift with the anchor,” Solas says, sounding somewhat in awe as they all look upwards where only stone falls now. “They’re in the Fade now.” 

“There’s nothing,” Alexi says, casting out his echo once again. Only darkness, save for the figures which stand around him. The Rift had been little more than instinct, a desperate plea. His breath had been stolen, his heart dropping, as the ground suddenly gave way beneath them. He’s only grateful he had managed to catch all of them.

“Right,” Hawke says, taking her hand in hers and placing it on her shoulder. “Hold tight then. The Rift we saw in the courtyard should be nearby. We can get out that way.”

“And what about that huge demon we saw on the other side of that Rift? The sight of that thing doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,” Varric tells her.

“We don’t have a choice,” Carver says.

“Then there is no point debating. We cannot stay here,” Cassandra says. Hawke moves forward slowly, looks back to make sure Alexi is close to her. He keeps his hand tight on her shoulder, and she keeps an easy pace.

“When I dream, the Fade looks _much_ different. It must be because we’re here physically,” she says. “What about you?”

“Well, considering I can actually see things when I dream…” Alexi chuckles.

“Right, right. Well, you’re not missing out on much right now. Everything’s very _green_. The water’s green, the rocks are green, the sky is green. There are a lot of what looks like old Tevinter statues, and there are some rocks that float. It’s like the Fade has taken all the discarded bits of our world and placed them wherever it felt. Otherwise, it’s very barren,” she says. He appreciates her running commentary, her description.

“It reminds me of the Bone Pit,” Carver murmurs.

“Shit, the Bone Pit is at least a little creepier than this place,” Varric says. Hawke laughs in agreement, wholehearted as always, a hand pressed against her belly as if trying to contain it.

“That’s what we should do when we get back to Kirkwall. The Bone Pit: come experience what it’s like to walk in the physical Fade, on Thedas! We’ll be rolling in gold,” she says.

“There’s something up ahead,” Alexi says suddenly, cutting into the conversation, “I think it’s a spirit.”

“That cannot be.” Cassandra is marching forward, ahead of the rest, “Divine Justinia?”

“Cassandra.” The voice is lilting and light, the accent of Orlais fliting around the edges. All Alexi knows is that this is some shining thing. Far brighter than Cole, who has found himself tied to the dull edges of the waking world. This is a spirit, through and through, taking on the appearance of the Divine. “I greet you Warden, and you Champion. Inquisitor.”

“It is said that the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, Inquisitor – could it be?” Cassandra sounds so confused and yet so hopeful.

“In truth, this debate will cost us time we do not have,” the Divine says. “You cannot stay in the Fade. I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor. The demon here which serves Corypheus has stolen those memories from you. It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.” 

“Memories make us what we are,” Varric says, “stealing those and eating them? That’s low, even for a demon.”

The Divine draws near to Carver, “the false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.” He has one hand behind him, wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The frown resting on his brows only grows at her words, and he squeezes his sword tighter. It’s as though he’s measuring her, deciding whether or not to cut her down.

“We should let her help us,” is all Alexi can offer to his decision. It’s enough. He slowly lets go of his sword, lets his hand fall back to his side.

“If what it says is true, then we should kill this demon and free the Wardens from the Calling. Might put some sense back into them,” Carver says.

“You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair,” she says. “The nightmare serves Corypheus willingly, for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world. And will bring more.”

“Can you help us get out of the Fade?” Alexi asks. He wonders how many had watched them fall. It would take only one to send word through the ranks of the Inquisition. The battle was already a precarious thing. They can’t be gone for much longer.

“That is why I found you. However, you must first take back what the Nightmare has stolen from you,” the Divine says. This formless light gestures forth, and Alexi sees a small flame floating in the dark. He steps forward, and Hawke steps forward with him, helping guide him towards it. He moves his staff from one hand to the other, bells chiming strangely in the empty Fade. With his other hand, he reaches out. It’s the first touch of skin against it which does it. Burning him from the inside out, Alexi whimpers, doubles over, holds it tighter.

An echo, of what once was. A figure, the same shape as the spirit, held in place by dark tendrils of magic. Across from it, a color he cannot forget. That towering inferno of burning red, malicious dark. Corypheus. In his hand, the orb. Surrounding them… shapes and colors he does not know. It’s the Divine who solves this mystery. It’s as though she speaks from far away, a distant past. “Wardens? Why are you doing this? You have all people?” She sounds saddened. Disappointed.

“Keep the sacrifice still.” Corypheus’s voice is twisted, deep, and recognizable. He holds the orb out, this glowing ball of power. Parts of all that the Divine is begin to weep from her, twist knotted strings towards the orb.

“Someone help me!” At her words, the sound of a door opening.

“What’s going on here?” That is a voice he does recognize. Colors. Shapes. All of them, all they are. They had been with him since his first day at the Circle. His friends. Himself, at the center, with them. They were all there. At the sight of the group, the Wardens attack. Alexi watches himself place a barrier, as Adam strikes out with a bolt of lightning. Flames, courtesy of Ben. Zoe is casting bolts from her staff, coated in her magic. His friends. His _family_. All of them, fighting together. He knows this isn’t what they want.

Adam had always loved animals. Many in Ostwick would call for his services when their herd fell ill. He would come home, excitedly talking about the baby lamb he had helped deliver. The cow, with the wounded foot, now running free in the fields. Ben would mix poultice and potion, a cure for any ailment. His stock was always popular in the shops, for his not just helped, but he would bind them with flowers, a scent that did not smell of death like others. Zoe was never confident in her magic. Instead she took to books, spending hours reading in the library. Often buried in a stack, but whispering secret knowledge so many others had forgotten.

Distracted, Corypheus looks away from the Divine. In that moment, she strikes out, knocks the orb from his hands. “Alexi! Grab it!” Adam’s voice. Alexi watches his own shape, his colors, dive forward. His teal mixes with anxiety. When he picks up the orb, it mixes with something else. A green he knows, the mark of the anchor. Whatever Corypheus had set in motion, it completes here and now, in the palm of Alexi. The orb explodes into a well of light, and burns away everyone who had stood beside him. The vision fades as quickly has it had come, the flame disintegrating into nothing.

Alexi reels backwards, into Blackwall, who steadies him with hands against his arms. “If I hadn’t touched it, if I hadn’t picked it up, my friends might still be alive. It was me – that activated the orb. I –” He’s shaking his head, holding his staff with both hands. Underneath his gloves, his knuckles are white. Breathing coming quicker now, as though he cannot hold air in his lungs, a sharp stab underneath his ribs.

“Alexi.” Hawke takes his face in her hands. “This is _not_ your fault. You are not to blame here. If you hadn’t picked it up, then Corypheus would have. He would have the anchor, and he would be unstoppable. You didn’t know what would happen. Your friends wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. You did everything you could,” she says. It’s spoken firmly, with an echo of experience. A lesson she’s hard learned, trying to pass it on to him. 

“The Divine knocked it out of Corypheus’s hands, _towards_ you. I agree with Hawke. This is not your fault. You saved us from a far worse fate,” Cassandra says.

“Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. We are lucky that the orb bestowed the anchor upon you instead,” the Divine says.

“This will haunt you,” Blackwall says quietly, meant for Alexi, and Alexi alone. “But you’ll make peace with it. Everyone here knows you. Knows you wouldn’t have hurt your friends. Blame Corypheus, not yourself.”

“There are more memories held ahead,” the Divine says. In an instant, the spirit disappears, meaning to make them follow. Hawke pulls at Alexi’s hand, puts it on her shoulder once again.

“I wonder how long the Wardens were being held under Corypheus. Even before the Conclave – Maker. I’m glad we got you out of there when we did,” Hawke says to Carver as they walk.

“Right. Although I don’t think Aveline’s been too pleased with me taking up her spare bedroom,” he tells her.

“And cleaning out her kitchen,” she says.

“A Warden’s hunger is infamous,” he says, “Besides, I always gave her coin to replace it.”

“Well, let’s kill this Nightmare and then you can go back to eating the Wardens out of house and home,” Hawke says.

“I think we’re still recovering from the last time Carver stayed with us,” Varric says, “some of that stuff was being aged on purpose, you know.”

“And it was _delicious_ ,” Carver says.

At his side, Cassandra puts a hand on Alexi’s arm. A small pat, whatever reassurance she can offer. The discussion of the others is being drowned out by the argument in his head. Their colors had _burned_ away. Why him? Why was he left standing when the others died? The crater at the center of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The valley that had been wiped away. _All those people_. 

“Ah, we have a visitor. Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from his shoulders.” This is so very like Envy. That voice, rattling around in his skull. But Cassandra grabs the hilt of her sword, Blackwall and Carver following suit, and Alexi knows he’s not the only one hearing it. “You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is _me_.” In this moment, he doesn’t feel strong.

“But you are a guest here in my home,” the Nightmare speaks so easily, gracefully, “so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.” A flickering flame presents itself, shining before them, just like the last. Reluctantly, Alexi reaches out towards it.

A Rift Alexi recognizes floats in this memory, dream-like vision. “This is the Breach back in Haven. That’s how we… how _I_ escaped.” His voice sounds far away, removed from the memory, as he speaks it. The Divine in this memory reaches towards him, takes his hand. Pulling him up and over a cliff, pushing him towards the Breach.

“Go!” She yells as the demons descend upon them. Alexi moves towards her, but she pushes him back… and is gone, same as the vision.

“It was you.” The spirit’s light shines from behind him, and he turns to face it. “You sacrificed yourself, for me. They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine behind me. And then you… she died.”

“Yes,” the spirit says. Alexi does not see a change, but from Cassandra’s gasp, he can guess that the spirit is burning away its shape. Shedding the guise of the Divine, standing as a spirit for all to see. “Now, come. The Rift is ahead.” This time, the spirit doesn’t disappear, simply guides them forward.

“Perhaps _I_ should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” The Nightmare’s laughter trails them as a shadow, a dark presence at their backs. “Like Blackwall. Ah, there’s nothing like a Grey Warden. And you are _nothing_ like a Grey Warden.”

“I’ll show you a Warden’s strength, beast,” Blackwall says, low and angry.

“Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker. That all your ‘faith’ has been for naught.” Yes, a fraud. A thing brought about by chance and circumstance. The anchor feels hot, aflame, from the moment they entered the Fade. An overwhelming sensation, pins and needles in his fingertips. He keeps his hand wrapped around his staff, finds some comfort in the familiar feeling of it.

“Die in the Void, demon,” Cassandra says, unwilling to listen to any of it.

“Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the Red Lyrium, you brought Hawke here… you’re going to get her wings clipped.” Hawke’s steps stutter only once, as she looks around to find Varric. He’s holding tightly to Bianca, wearing a furious frown. She puts her hand on his shoulder, and smiles at him.

“Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Varric and Carver are going to die, just like the rest of your family, and everyone you ever cared about. You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it.”

“I’ve heard worse from Carver,” she says.

“Hawke being chased out of Kirkwall, being wanted and hunted, meant that now you could be _the_ Hawke. Did you cheer when you found out? Finally able to step out of her shadow, and make a name for yourself. Look at what you have done with this opportunity. Nothing. You will always be nothing.”

“Can you imagine if both of us went by Hawke? Imagine the confusion,” Carver says, through a clenched jaw. The Nightmare laughs.

“Alexi, Alexi, Alexi. Did you really think you could lead the Inquisition? A blind man? You’ve already killed your Circle, think now what will happen to those around you. And those who wait for you at Adamant. My demons descend upon them, overwhelm them! All of them are bound through me, every fear come to life!”

“Ah,” the spirit says, “so if we banish you, we banish the demons? Thank you, every fear come to life.” The shadow at their backs grows with displeasure, before seeking refuge elsewhere. “The Rift is ahead. Go through it, Inquisitor, and then slam it closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons… and exile this cursed Nightmare to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

“The Rift! We’re almost there,” Hawke says, hurrying her steps, putting a hand over Alexi’s.

“Great, Hawke,” Varric says. “Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you?”

“Who would we be without something standing in our way every single time?” she says. What stands in their way, this time, is the Nightmare itself. With it, a demon of impossible size and strength. For Alexi, they are swirling smoke in the darkness of his echo.

“What do we do against _that_?” Carver asks.

“We fight,” Hawke says.

“If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry. I failed you, too.’” The Divine whispers it to Alexi, as she gentle pushes him forward, and disappears into nothingness. The Rift stands behind the demons, where they wait to challenge them. Alexi feels it building in Hawke, magic rising to the very surface. She lets it loose with a jagged cry, jagged lightning to match. Cassandra, Blackwall and Carver move to stand before them, by shield and sword, to let the mages and Varric do their work uninterrupted.

Cassandra dives forward, unafraid, as Alexi’s barrier weaves itself around her, an almost impenetrable thing. The Nightmare almost takes it down with one simple swipe of its claws. Alexi is building it up once again, blanketing the rest of them, guarding Carver as he goes to chop at the legs of the larger demon. Varric keeps a rhythm of bolts, aiming for every eye that he can see. It blinks away his assault, moves forward. It clears a path of stone and rubble with one kick, sends Carver flying back.

The Nightmare is stuttering around the edges, flickering in and out of sight, screaming towards Varric. Hawke bites it back with flame, and Blackwall rams into it with his shield. Alexi knows it, same as the rest of them. This isn’t a fight they can win. Here, in the Fade, they are still mortal while the demons are not. “Carver!” Hawke calls it out in a yell, as bolts of lightning draw attention to her. “Grab Varric and Alexi!”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“Promise me you’ll get them out of here,” she roars, pushing Alexi forward, sending him crashing towards Carver. His hand is rough around Alexi’s arm.

“Hawke – what are you doing?” Alexi shouts, just as Carver pulls him back, out of the way of another attacking leg.

“Birdie –” Hawke silences Varric with a rough kiss.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” she tells him. Gathering up every ounce of magic left in her, she pulls them all together. Hawke has always loved being a force mage. With a wave of a hand, she sends them all flying past the demons, towards the Rift. With her other hand, she strikes lightning upwards, keeps their attention on her. With his other hand, Carver reaches out and grabs hold of Varric.

“Let go of me Junior, we can’t leave her behind – Carver! Hawke! Marian! Marian, please!” A sob catches in his throat. Carver charges forward, and does not look behind him. His grip rough and bruising, he pulls them into the Rift with him.

Cassandra and Blackwall are gasping on the ground. Alexi turns to face the Rift. “Do it,” Carver says in a low voice. Letting go of both of them, walking off into the crowd. The anchor hungers. It devours the edges of the Rift, eats towards the middle. It gorges, until the Rift is no more. The demons scream, turn to dust in the wind. Varric is sitting on the steps of the courtyard, his face in his hands. Blackwall and Cassandra push themselves up to their feet, as Wardens and Inquisition soldiers alike gather around them. 

“Corypheus has lost control of the Wardens and his demon army now,” Blackwall says.

“Inquisitor,” a scout is pushing through the crowd, running towards him, “the Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori Magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself.” Cullen himself is standing at the entrance to the courtyard, speaking orders to the soldiers around him.

Cole puts a hand on Cullen’s shoulders. “Hurting and wounded, pain where no one can see, placed he can’t heal. He needs you,” he says. Cullen immediately whirls, turns to see Alexi addressing the Wardens.

“We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s… tragic mistake,” one is saying.

“We have barely any surviving senior Grey Wardens,” another says.

“What do we do now?” The murmur is making its way around, through all gathered.

“I grew up hearing tales of the Grey Wardens. About their bravery, and perseverance even in the face of overwhelming odds. Wardens have always tried to do what’s right, and save the world they live in. Your world is threatened now, by Corypheus. Let the Inquisition help you rebuild, and fight back against Corypheus – the one who would have made you an enemy of Thedas. I believe the Wardens are worth saving, but they can’t be saved unless you believe it to,” Alexi says. His voice is quiet, and small, and yet the whole of the courtyard is silent, listening to him speak.

“We should send a report to Weisshaupt, so that other Wardens won’t be caught off guard by Corypheus,” one says. Alexi nods, and slowly walks down the steps of the Courtyard.

“Thank you.” The Wardens are murmuring as he passes. Thanks, from almost every one of them. “We will not fail you.” Pressing a fist against the sigil that marks their armor. “Maker watch over you.” It’s a relief, to get through them all.

“Cullen,” Alexi says, standing in front of him. Cullen reaches for his hand, pulls him into an abandoned room.

“Alexi,” he says, “are you alright?” Alexi’s hand is trembling, slips from Cullen’s grasp. He folds against Cullen, wrapping his arms around him, burying his face into the fur of his cloak. A fist winds itself into his cloak, and Cullen can feel it shake against his back. He can feel all of him shaking. Cullen holds him tightly in his arms, and allows him to sob out his grief against him.

* * *

He sits up in bed, waking from the dream. He knows it’s still late, as he hasn’t been able to sleep through the night in the days returning to Skyhold. The bed feels suddenly too soft, the blankets far too restrictive, the air of his bedroom somehow different. Boots watches him stand up, reach for his staff. Before, he had felt he had never needed it in Skyhold. Now he takes it everywhere with him. Reaching for the robe draped over the end of the bed, slipping on the shoes by the stairs.

Every other place risks running into guards, and he has no interest in seeing anyone else. Instead, Alexi makes his way towards the war room, closes the door behind him. He finds the edge of the table, the wood sanded down smoothly underneath his fingertips. He lets his staff rest over the table, between the marked sections of the map. All these places he is meant to go. Varric is still quiet. Carver made his way back to Skyhold a few days later.

Varric used to be so yellow. Steady and optimistic. Now is orange, still colored from Hawke’s last touch, last kiss, last words. There’s a crystal missing from Alexi’s staff. The one she had filled with her magic he had taken, given to Varric.

Alexi sighs, half sits in the crook of the table, his hands clasped in his lap, and one foot flat against the floor. Head tipped downwards, and at least now his thoughts are quiet. He only looks up when he hears the door open. “Oh! I didn’t expect – I can leave, if you want to be alone.”

“No, please, don’t mind me, I’m probably in your way…” Alexi says, fidgeting with his robe.

“No,” Cullen says, putting down his stack of papers at the end of the table, “you’re not.” He moves closer to him, his hand tracing around the edge of the table. “Still having trouble sleeping?” Alexi nods. Cullen has left behind his cloak, and stands in nothing but simple trousers and a tunic, evidence of his own struggle with sleep.

“What were you planning out this time?” Alexi asks, wanting to change the subject.

“Well, the Duke and the Empresses armies are still fighting on the Exalted Plains. There might be time for some Inquisition forces to intervene and offer aid to the soldiers there, before the Winter Palace. The fighting should be calming down as negotiations grow closer, but we don’t know if they even know negotiations are going to be happening,” Cullen says.

“Are you going to send me away from Skyhold again?” Alexi asks with a smile. Cullen chuckles, rubs the back of his neck.

“Not if I can help it,” he says. He lets the statement stand for only a moment, before he clears his throat. His fingertips tap at the table. “Forgive me if I offend you, but I was curious to know – how do you see?” Alexi gives a casual wave of his hand, brushing away the idea of any offence given.

“I call it an echo. I cast it out like a net, and it blankets things. It’s as though I’m in a dark room, and I can see the outline of things. People, however, appear as color,” he says.

“Color,” he repeats, “how so?” Alexi gives a thoughtful bite of his lip.

“Well, Sera’s all yellows. Vivienne is a very deep, royal shade of purple where Leliana is like lavender. Varric’s more orange now,” he says.

“What color am I?” Cullen asks.

“You… change,” Alexi says.

“I change?”

“Yes, when I do this,” he says as he reaches out slowly, gently resting his hand over Cullen’s. He watches as strained blue shifts, the red cracks at the edges smoothing, becoming some calm lake of deep water. Cullen blushes, Alexi smiles.

“Alexi –” He struggles for a moment to find the words. He finds there are no words to say at all. He hesitates for only a moment. Then, with his other hand he reaches upwards, over his shoulders, settling at the nape of Alexi’s neck. A nervous inhale. Pulling him down gently, eyes closing as lip touches against lip. A soft press, at first. There’s surprise in it, the briefest of seconds, before Alexi leans into it, returns it in full. One hand still over Cullen’s, the other moving to wind in the sleeve of his shirt.

They break, on the exhale. A moment of uncertainty, his eyes opening, looking at the way Alexi’s lips are still parted. “Sorry,” Cullen says, a little hoarsely, “should I not have?” Alexi is still smiling, shakes his head, and pulls Cullen back to him, kisses him once again. This one is more confident than the first, far more eager, delight in every breath.

“I didn’t think to – I mean, I didn’t dare hope… you said before you weren’t interested in men, and I –” Alexi speaks it breathlessly, nervously, his cheeks suddenly flushed. Cullen turns his hand over, and holds Alexi’s hand completely in his, thumbs moving over his knuckles.

“Alexi,” he says, “I’m interested in you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! No update next week because Christmas, so I thought I'd give this one a bit early to hold you over. See you in the New Year! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/post/146678434099) I had art commissioned of this chapter - [check it out here!](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/post/181256882454)


	6. Church and State

Softly scented champagne, mixing with the heavier deluge of perfume, expensive food. She has her arm linked in his, carefully guiding him around the garden. “Every statue is covered in gold leaf,” she says, her head very near to his. Light conversational tones mix with brighter laughter, fade into water, the sound of a fountain nearby. “The trim of each wall and pillar as well.” He thinks he might remember what the Trevelyan estate looked at, or it might be something he dreamed. Either way, he’s sure that the Winter Palace is far grander. “The walls are white and accented blue, it is like – clouds in a very clear sky. It all very much stands out from the green of the garden.”

“What do the masks look like?” he asks.

“Many of them are made of fine silk and metal. Some are in the shape of butterfly wings, while others have painted faces. Some are covered in gold foil, others have feathers and the like,” Josephine tells him. Alexi only knows the shape of their color, all the things that lurk behind the masks and flowing gowns. He can feel the familiar prickle of mage light nearby, and knows that’s how they must be lighting the evening. The rustle of banners in the breeze, and distantly, some band plays. Josephine wears a gown of her own, holds her mask in her other hand.

They’ve taken care to ensure that Alexi, the figurehead of the Inquisition, would fit in with this gilded crowd. He’s never worn anything finer. Trousers soft and comfortable, a silk shirt. The robe fits to his form perfectly, square on his shoulders, and a belt around his waist. Warmly burned oranges, careful beige and browns. The stitched pattern on his robe, if one looks carefully, is the watchful eye of the Inquisition. It suits the Inquisitor, or at least, that’s what Vivienne had told him. They’d confiscated his scarves and sweaters, out of fear he might bring one with him. He doesn’t mind that. What he truly longs for, instead, is his staff.

Surrounded by voices and a cacophony of color, his staff had always been a paddle to split through the sea of it all. Now, he can only walk in step with Josephine, keep close to her. “They’re mostly landowners whose property is under siege, thanks to the war,” she says. “The rest are those who would very much enjoy being granted more land of their own. They hope that if they throw their support for the right leader, their loyalty will be repaid.” So many strings in place, and no one knows what will be the knife to cut them all.

Celene believes it will be the Inquisition that might shatter the fragile balance. Leliana had tried, and failed, to send warnings to her. She is the Empress, and belongs to her nation, and not to herself. That also meant that any private word was easily intercepted. So their invitation comes from Grand Duke Gaspard, knowing Celene’s reservations. Anything that might keep her off balance, give him some advantage. Ambassador Briala, on the other hand, had made no intentions towards the Inquisition. Alexi finds it almost comforting, that Briala doesn’t think their presence worth a mention.

“Alexi,” Josephine says in a low whisper, “Grand Duke Gaspard is heading this way.” He can feel her tension in the grip she keeps on his arm. Her nervousness might be infectious, if not for the fact that he had been speaking to those in a better position than him all his life.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan! It is an honor to meet you at last,” Gaspard says, voice lilting with an entrenched Orlesian accent. The smile comes easy to Alexi’s lips, and he gives a polite nod, the slightest tipped bow.

“The honor is mine, Grand Duke,” he says.

“The rumors coming out of the Western Approach are most interesting. They say you battled an army of demons?” Josephine raises her mask, her gaze hidden behind darkened mesh, and Gaspard cannot see the way she glares. She watches as the eyes behind Gaspard’s own mask slowly look Alexi up and down. Mostly, they focus on his face, and how Alexi’s eyes do not meet his. It gives him away. Alexi is always more concerned with the hearing, rather than wasting energy casting out his echo at every moment, and so his ear is more tilted toward Gaspard, rather than his gaze. Gaspard is confirming more than one rumor for himself.

“Yes,” Alexi says, forging forward unaware of the reason behind Josephine’s tapping fingertips, “we were lucky to save who we could.” Bereft, in who they couldn’t.

“So it’s true then.”

“It was. The Wardens are with the Inquisition now, free from Corypheus’s influence and others who would use them,” he says.

“Imagine, then, what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.” The slightest cast of his echo, just in time to watch Gaspard’s colors preen and prune, a peacock presenting itself for the plucking. He believes in his own words, his own right of the throne – that much is certain. It would also mean that the Inquisition would be carefully swept to the side of whatever goals Gaspard wanted to accomplish. Having listened to Cullen for the past few days, those goals would mean the threatening of Ferelden’s borders.

“Thank you, Grand Duke. We would all surely benefit from a stable and prosperous Orlais,” Alexi says. He bites back the implication that Gaspard is the reason for the currently chaotic Orlais. Gaspard only smiles, crosses his arms, chuckles under his breath.

“Surely,” he says. Scratching at his chin, and he steps closer towards them. “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I’ll help you.” The invitation was only the first attempt at gaining favors. Now, he comes to collect. “As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening.” Favors.

“This elven woman Briala – I suspect she means to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these ‘ambassadors’ all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes. Be as discreet as possible, when looking into it. I detest this game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains,” Gaspard says.

“Wouldn’t it be better, then, to simply invite Briala with you as well? Extend a hand to her and her ambassadors,” Alexi says. It earns him a small squeeze from Josephine, a clear warning that he treads too far. Gaspard laughs openly at his suggestion.

“Briala didn’t work out in Celene’s favor, I doubt she’d work out in mine. At any rate, Inquisitor, we keep our Court waiting and appearances are everything. I’ll see you inside,” he says, turning on his heel almost immediately, having given his orders.

“You didn’t really think he’d agree, did you?” she asks, once Gaspard is safely at a distance.

“No,” Alexi shakes his head, “but I thought I should try anyway.” She gives his arm a sympathetic pat.

“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t delay any further. The others are already inside,” she says. He happily follows her lead, through the gardens and around the fountain, to the stairs leading up to the palace itself. He can hear the whispers that follow them. He knew, of course, that there would be whispers.

“A mage? No, there must be some mistake.” A voice, from the left of him, completely aghast. The bannister is cool underneath his fingertips, footsteps sound on smooth stone.

“From the Circle of Ostwick, so they say.” An answering voice, and he wonders exactly what they’re saying about the Circle. Do they know about the library, the notes scrawled in the margins of each page from apprentices long past? Do they know how the cook used to use magic to make rotting berries ripe again? Do they know the laughter, the learning? No, they just know it’s in the Free Marches and that it burned in the rebellion. He puts his hand over Josephine’s.

“We are supposed to trust a blind man leading the Inquisition?” Josephine’s grip on his arm tightens, her back stiffens. Shoulders square, and Alexi’s certain she’s glaring in the direction of the whispers.

“It’s alright,” he says, “It doesn’t bother me.”

“It bothers _me_. They shouldn’t say those things. They don’t know you,” she says with a sigh.

“But you do, and you know I’m even less capable than they think.” He smiles as she gives his hand a scolding swat.

“You shouldn’t say those things either.”

“Sorry Josie,” he says, still wearing the decidedly unapologetic smile. As they enter into the Palace together, the cool night air changes to the comfortable warmth of bodies gathered, a Palace well built. The murmur of conversation is louder here. A constant hum, mixed with the sound of glass chiming against glass, pointed heels against smooth floors, deals being struck, games being played. Casting out his echo, finding the color he craves the most in a canvas fit to burst.

“You go on ahead,” Alexi tells Josephine, “I’ll be in soon.”

“Don’t take too long. They’ll want to announce you with Gaspard,” she says. Her arm slips from his, drifting off to find Leliana and Vivienne. Alexi moves in a different direction, towards Cassandra, and Cullen. They both share the same wide stance, crossed arms, and squared shoulders. He imagines they have the same expression, share some incredulous skepticism. Standing in their Circle with them, and Cullen lets his hands fall to his side. Briefly, he touches the back of his hand against Alexi’s.

“I am glad I am not the one who has to talk to these people,” Cassandra says. “I do not envy you, Inquisitor.”

“Why aren’t you calling me Alexi?” he asks.

“I would if I did not fear Vivienne materializing from the shadows to scold me on proper etiquette around the court,” she says. “I’ve already heard enough of it for one lifetime.”

“Are you planning on going in soon? I believe we’re expected to go with you,” Cullen says, and yes, a definite brush of his fingers against Alexi’s knuckles. A gentle, reassuring touch. The smile spreads across Alexi’s face as he slips his hand underneath Cullen’s arm, links them together, just as he was with Josephine.

“Can you walk me in? I’m afraid I’ll bump into someone,” Alexi says. He misses the way Cassandra looks eagerly between them, breathing with sudden excitement at the sight of Cullen’s red-tipped ears, the blush in his cheeks. The soft way in which he looks at Alexi, the smile to match.

“Of course Ale- Inquisitor.” It’s become so common – their use of names. Whenever possible, away from the ears of others. Sometimes they slip. That unexpected use in the middle of conversation, intimate, the way a gentle touch at the back feels. Cullen straightens up just a touch, pulls at the hem of the jacket they’ve trussed him up in.

“I will see you inside,” Cassandra says, making no mention on what she’s just noticed. She does, however, make a mental note to have a few select books sent to Cullen’s office. Perhaps a suggestion of flowers. Alexi listens for her footsteps to fade before he turns to Cullen.

“Are you nervous?” He asks.

“I fear these sorts of things will never not make me uncomfortable,” he says. “I’m just glad I don’t have to speak to anyone important.”

“Josie would say that everyone here is important,” he says. Cullen gives a long and troubled sigh.

“There’s only one person here who’s truly important to me, and I’m already speaking to him,” he says. Alexi’s eyebrows rise, the smile spreading across his face as they begin to walk towards the doors of the ballroom.

“That was very charming,” he says.

“I’ve been practicing.” Alexi chuckles under his breath, gives Cullen’s arm a small squeeze with his other hand. The smile spreads across Cullen’s face, and he puts his hand over Alexi’s. It’s comforting, and Alexi finds he misses it deeply when it slips away, as they stand before the doors. Servants bow, open the way for them. Gaspard is already waiting inside, beside what must be the herald.

“Inquisitor, excellent. We can begin the evening properly. We are the last to be introduced, and therefore the most noticed,” Gaspard says as the herald goes to stand at the railing, looking out upon the dancefloor. The music seems to pause for a moment, as they see who stands with Gaspard. Alexi only wishes he could see Celene properly. For now, she is but a pillar of navy blue that stands across from them.

“And now presenting,” the herald’s voice booms, and Gaspard takes his place at the top of the stairs, “Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.” Alexi begins to retrieve his arm from Cullen, move to take his place after him. Before he can separate himself completely, Cullen takes his hand in his, gives it a small squeeze. Alexi only wishes he could hold it longer. Cullen’s hand goes back to his side, watching Alexi’s back as he stands at the top of the stairs. After a moment his hand squeezes into a fist, stretches his hand back out again, as if trying to recreate the feeling.

“Accompanying him, Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi.” He takes his steps slowly down the stairs, his hand on the marble railings. “Vanquisher of the Rebel Mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground.” Alexi’s jaw clenches. Is that what they did? He knows for a fact that Fiona is working with other mages to make Skyhold a safe haven for all – knows that she, and they, have their freedom and could leave if they wished it.

“Shepherd and leash of the wayward Order of Templars, purger of the heretics from the ranks of the Faithful!” That would sting Barris as well, to think that the Order was somehow under the heel of the Inquisition. Alexi reminds himself that it’s a fiction. Still, it’s a fiction that’s being spoken to the nobility of Orlais, and a fiction that will continue to spread. He makes a mental note to discuss it with Josephine and Varric. Surely, between the two of them, they could change the narrative to something better. Truer. “Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!” 

The others are being introduced behind him, but Alexi barely hears them, not as he stands below Celene, tilts his head upwards towards her. He gives her a bow, and he watches her colors shift. “Empress,” he says quietly, “I know you don’t want the Inquisition here. We’ve learned that an attempt on your life will be made. We tried to warn you, but our every message was intercepted.”

“Attempts on my life are made every day,” Celene says, just as quietly. “I am prepared for such a thing.”

“Not an attempt like this,” he says. “You don’t know what’s coming. If I could speak with you privately, we could –” Alexi stops speaking abruptly as another figure joins Celene, stands beside her. The Palace is full of ears, ones that would stop him from reaching her.

“Lord Inquisitor,” Celene raises her voice appropriately, “we welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess Florianne of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

“What an unexpected pleasure, I was the aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later Inquisitor,” Florianne says Alexi doesn’t know the sly smile that crosses her face, but he doesn’t trust the puce of her colors, the twisting red of ambition that curls at the heart of her. She turns on her heel, leaves as abruptly as she had come.

“Your majesty, please, I must insist that we speak soon. You are in grave danger,” Alexi says, stepping forward once again. The others are still behind him, mingling on the ballroom floor. Celene goes to speak, but a sudden noise cuts through the music, the laughter, the conversation. A shrill whistling, and then it call crashes together.

The walls of the Winter Palace were made for the glory of Orlais. A display of wealth, the conquering of the empire of the Dales. A monument. It was never made to withstand a siege.

At the first shuddering of its walls, the crashing ceiling, Alexi instinctively reacts. Raising his arms, palms towards the heaven, the barrier bursting free. Covering as much of the ballroom as he possibly can, debris and rubble bouncing against it. Screaming all about him, chaos, but a calm figure steps beside him. She raises her arms as well, adds her strength to his barrier.

“Good evening Inquisitor,” she says, “I was hoping we would meet under different circumstances.”

“A better one, I hope,” Alexi says, straining under the weight of it all.

“My name is Morrigan. Arcane advisor to the throne. Speaking of – Empress Celene, if you would join us. You’re safer here with us,” she says. In an instant, Celene is lifting her skirts, racing to stand beside them. Vivienne, Solas and Dorian are doing much the same, pushing through the crowd on the ballroom floor to make their way to him. They add their magic to his, and the barrier grows with strength.

“This is _much_ better than other parties I’ve been to. Far more exciting,” Dorian says. Alexi struggles not to laugh, his arms trembling under the weight of bracing the barrier. He can hear Leliana shouting over the cacophony of it all, and Inquisition soldiers are throwing down their gowns, their suits, revealing the armor underneath.

“What a shame, to lose the Winter Palace this way,” Vivienne mourns. Trebuchets are being loaded, winded, and fired. Blasting against marble, stripping away gold leaf. Fire has begun to seep its way into every corner, lick at the edges of the barrier. Nobles are crowding around them, hoping that safety is closest to the Empress.

“It’s Samson.” Leliana, very near him. “We have no idea how he got so close to the Palace without being noticed. He’s leading one of Corypheus’s hordes. Only one scout from outside was able to reach us. How did he get so _close_?”

“We can figure that out later, darling,” Vivienne says. “For now, we had best hope there’s a way out of this ballroom.” The assault on the Palace continues without ceasing. The loading of the trebuchets, the firing. Stone meets stone, breaks. Pillar after pillar, and the banners of Orlais begin to burn.

“There is. An escape route underneath the fountain in the courtyard,” Celene says.

“We’ll need to spread the barrier to cover it that far,” Morrigan says. Alexi is already reaching, pushing against the weight that threatens to do them all in. Shared air, scarce breath, so much of it wasted in panic. Pushing and shoving, struggling to be closest. Even Celene, Empress though she is, isn’t safe from it all.

“Where are the servants?” Alexi asks. He doesn’t cast an echo. There’s no magic in him to spare. Not that it would matter, with so many bodies pressed so tightly together.

“What does it matter?” A shrill voice. “They are _servants_. They are not people like you or I, Inquisitor.” Murmured agreement, amongst the panic, the plea to be saved. Clamoring for the escape route, caring only for themselves.

“ _Where are the servants_?” Alexi asks again. He shouts it over a crowd that isn’t listening. There isn’t time for this. Any of it. He can hold the barrier for so long, even with the others help. A few mages, against an army, simply isn’t enough.

“In the servant’s quarters, Inquisitor. If I could take a few of your men, I could clear out the quarters, and save many,” someone says, the only one nearby willing, wanting, to answer his question.

“I’ll go with Briala.” Cullen’s voice. “Sergeant! The six of you. Come with me! We go with the Ambassador.” Alexi almost wants to sob in relief at the sound of his words.

“Celene, lead everyone to the escape route. Morrigan, Vivienne, Solas, if you could spread the barrier there…?” Alexi asks. Sweat beads on his forehead, rolls down his temples. The anchor is sparking, glowing green. It crackles with raw energy, bending the very Fade around it.

“Let’s not waste a minute then,” Morrigan says. Alexi feels the weight grow. He and Dorian do their best to push back.

“Where are the others?” Alexi asks through gritted teeth. Leliana stands on her toes, whirls to look around the ballroom.

“Josie is with the Empress. Cassandra, Bull and Blackwall are rounding up people and bringing them to the escape route. I don’t know where Sera, Cole or Varric are,” she says.

“Find them, please? Get them out of here,” he says.

“I will.” She’s racing off, pushing into the crowd, lithe and nimble and without care of their pointed shoes, silken dresses. She pushes where she needs to, steps wherever able.

“I take it back, this party is the worst,” Dorian says. “We didn’t even get to try the drinks. A shame.” At this, Alexi lets out a breathless chuckle.

“I was very excited to find out what Orlesian cheese tasted like.”

“I can tell you that the ham does _not_ taste very happy.” He’s grateful for the laughter, as bodies continue to mill about them. Shoulders bumping against shoulders, elbowing, cramming. Skirts being torn, masks being ripped off. The Game is no longer of importance. They squeeze up the stairs, spill into the courtyard. One tiny staircase, leading to a series of tunnels. The remnants of the empire Orlais had conquered, a city they had buried underneath their gold, and elven blood.

“Everyone’s almost out, Alexi.” Leliana. “We need to leave, and protect the escape route. Samson’s forces will overwhelm Halamshiral soon.”

“Is Cullen back? Briala?” Alexi asks. She shares a worried look with Dorian.

“No, but –”

“Take Dorian with you, and go. I can hold it. I can wait,” Alexi says. Blood mixes with Fade, twists around Alexi’s wrist, splatters against the perfect floor beneath his feet. It shines, glows with the effort of it. “Please, don’t argue.” Spoken weakly, through a half smile. Dorian keeps a hand raised as he walks with Leliana up the stairs, towards the courtyard. There are only a few stragglers left. Smoke curls around the barrier, twists between broken stone, crushed marble. Statues and banners, gold and golden, now rubble. Now nothing.

Long minutes of silence, broken only by the crack of flames, the approaching army. That all fades into ringing, the rush of blood. His arms tremble, and he’s practically hunched in two. Head towards the ground, breathing heavily. His mouth is thick with the taste of iron, and he is being bowed under the weight of the barrier. Stretching him, breaking him, tearing him in two. “ _Alexi_.” An arm, wrapping around his waist, and a hand, pressed against his chest.

“We need to leave now, Inquisitor!” Briala’s voice, the voice of others behind her.

“Walk with me,” Cullen says softly, that arm around his waist urging him forward. Each step is halting, slow, and the barrier is shrinking around them. From stone to grass, the fountain pushed aside to reveal the escape. Cullen and Alexi are the last to go. Descending down into the darkness, and Alexi lets the barrier fall. The Winter Palace wheezes, groans, falls as well, a crown of rubble.

Briala is leading the servants through the tunnel, the torches on the walls already lit by those who went before. “Cullen.” Their steps stop, and Briala and the others move further and further away from them. Alexi wraps his arms around Cullen, leans against him. Cullen holds him tightly, without hesitation. Hands splayed against his back, holding him close. “We didn’t save them all, did we?” he asks.

“No,” Cullen says after a moment, “I don’t think so. Don’t think about that right now.”

“How can I not?” His voice wavers, breaks. “Did Corypheus attack because we were here? If we hadn’t come to save Celene would it only have been her – I don’t – what if.”

“It wasn’t just your choice to come here. This isn’t your fault. It’s likely Samson and Corypheus would have attacked, no matter if we were here or not. It would have been foolish not to. Almost the entirety of the Orlesian nobility under one roof? You saved them. All those lives, because of you. Focus on that,” he says. Alexi pulls himself away from Cullen slightly, brushes with his sleeve against his cheeks. With a frown, Cullen reaches out, and takes his hand in his.

He studies his palm, the still weeping anchor. It sings a broken song, some pained wheeze, with no rhyme. Raw and jagged, blood around the edges. Cullen tears the sash from around his waist, begins to wrap it around Alexi’s hand. “They were willing to leave the servants. All those lives,” Alexi says softly. “Did you hear what one of them said? That they aren’t _people_ , like you or I.” Cullen’s movements falter, pause for a moment. Such a brief hesitation, before he finishes binding his hand. Still holding it, not wanting to let Alexi go.

“It’s that person who should have been left behind,” Cullen says quietly. “A rotten, awful person.” Alexi hums agreement, rests his head against his shoulder. With his free hand, Cullen reaches up, rests it at the nape of his neck. He twists fingers against the soft wisps of hair that curl there, moves down against his back. Slow circles against him, feeling Alexi’s heart beating beneath his palm. His voice is still racing with breathless panic.

“It’s how the Templars used to treat us. Or, justify how they treated us. If we weren’t… people – then they could do what they wanted,” he says softly.

“It isn’t right,” Cullen says. “I’m sorry. Alexi, I’m so sorry.” For what feels as though it’s the first time in an age, Alexi exhales. He stands up straight, shakes his head, clears his thoughts.

“It’s alright. It wasn’t you,” he says. “We should catch up to the others, make sure that everyone’s alright.”

“We can wait another moment. I doubt they’ll be quick to shift through all that rubble,” Cullen says. His hand moves up Alexi’s arms, one at the back of his neck once again. Pulling him down to him, tilting his face upwards. Lips crushing against lips, and Alexi’s hand is winding in Cullen’s tunic. The other, still bleeding anchor, is still resting in Cullen’s. The first kiss is long, languishing. Slightly sloppy, messy in its haste. The second is quick, quiet. The third softer, slower.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Cullen says.

“You too,” he says. Forehead rests against forehead, and the flame of the torch flickers. Cullen moves for another kiss, keeping Alexi close. “I was worried that the quarters had collapsed. You were taking so long to come back.”

“I’m here now,” he says. Nose brushes against nose. Cullen’s hand moves to his face, brushes a thumb against his cheekbone. Alexi’s curls against the back of his hand, threading through his fingers. Alexi opens his mouth to him, and tongue presses against tongue. Wet, warm, a small groan in the back of Cullen’s throat as he deepens the kiss. Alexi’s back against the wall, Cullen against his chest. His hand settles at Cullen’s waist, his fist still tight in his tunic.

Alexi can feel his face burning, taken aback by the sudden intensity of the kiss. He doesn’t realize that Cullen is much the same, but unable to stop. His hand keeps Alexi’s face close to his, and as he shifts the kiss, warm breath brushes against his lips. Heart pounding against his ribs, nervous and excited all the same. Alexi’s hand trembles, slightly, and Cullen resists the urge to trace the curve of his neck, the visible collarbone, open his shirt button by button. Cullen parts slowly, both of them breathing heavy. Moments of silence, wrapped up in each other.

The tunnels lead out into one large cave, where everyone is gathered. Leliana standing at the entrance, with Inquisition soldiers, and Cassandra. “You made it, good,” she says. Alexi’s uninjured hand is clasped in Cullen’s, and they walk side by side. “Briala, Celene and Gaspard are _discussing_ things.” Where the nobles and servants are shell-shocked, quiet in their reproach of an attack against the Palace, the others are yelling.

Voice clashes against voice, and Leliana and Josephine follow behind Alexi and Cullen as they make their way over. “If Orlais was not weakened by a civil war, this attack would not have happened. In your lust for power, you have crippled the Empire!” Celene shouts.

“If Orlais had a capable commander, we could fight back. Instead we are holed up in caves like rats!” Gaspard hisses.

“This isn’t the time,” Alexi says softly. Briala has her arms crossed, leaning against one of the walls. Florianne sits nearby, her leg bouncing restlessly. “Is there an exit out of these tunnels?”

“Yes,” Celene answers instantly, “nearby.”

“Inquisition soldiers will secure it. The sooner we can get all three of you back to Val Royeaux, the better. You can rest assured this is one of many attacks that Corypheus will launch,” he says.

“Then the tales are true. An ancient Darkspawn magister comes to burn the world,” Gaspard says. Alexi can only nod in agreement. A disbelieving grunt, and Gaspard rubs his chin with his hand. “We will need a united Orlais to defend our borders, and send troops to aid the Inquisition in closing the Breach.”

“The first sensible thing you’ve said all night, cousin,” Celene says, frost in every word. It’s this agreement that launches Florianne to her feet. Drawing the dagger from inside her skirts, throwing herself at Celene. Alexi finds his hand suddenly cold as Cullen moves into action, grabbing the dagger by the blade, booting Florianne back. Leliana is quick on the follow up, incapacitating the Duchess and keeping her pinned.

“The attack was supposed to work. The Inquisition and Orlesian nobility in one place! Corypheus would have given Orlais to _me_ ,” Florianne wails. To his credit, Gaspard reels in outraged disbelief.

“You made a deal with a monster?” He asks. Briala only laughs at the absurdity of it all.

“What a fine state the country is in,” she says. Cullen opens his fist, pulls the blade from his palm. It’s Alexi’s turn now, to pull Cullen’s hand into his. The gentle prickle of magic around the wound, slowly stitching flesh back together.

“We will deal with Florianne once we are back at the capital,” Celene says. “I, for one, am sick to death of this evening, and this charade. I will show you the correct tunnels to take, if you would, Lady Leliana.”

“When this is over, we should focus on finding Samson,” Cullen says to Alexi. “I knew him. We were both part of Kirkwall’s Circle. I – should have done more to prevent him from seeking out something like Corypheus. Maybe he’ll have some answers for us.”

“When everyone is safe,” Alexi says, “we find Samson.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/post/146678434099)


	7. New Words for Old Wounds

His dreams hold no color for him. All of it is used so thoroughly in waking, he keeps nothing for himself as he sleeps. He knows his dreams always, returning to him the vision he once had. He holds the hand of someone he thinks he might recognize, if only they had a face. A blank mask, void of shape and mark, and her hair curls in the same way as his. She stands beside him, and he realizes how small he is. In some still courtyard, with no breeze or bird, and it might be the Trevelyan estate. It might be the Circle. It might be the Winter Palace.

“The Templars are coming,” she says, “they’re going to take you away from us.” It’s her voice, layered on top of so many others. Everyone he’s ever known, speaking the same words, from the same mouth. Adam. Ben. Zoe. Hawke. His mother. “They’re coming.” Behind her, the building burns. He feels the heat of it. He opens his eyes, waking into comfortable dark. The pillow underneath his head, the blankets over his shoulder. Curled in his arms, Boots squirms, stretches, paws against his chest.

Alexi rolls over onto his back, rubs the sleep from his eyes. It’s been a persistent dream, one he’s had since the Winter Palace. Gaspard, Celene and Briala had been quite amenable to every single one of Josephine’s requests and suggestions. He supposes they don’t have much choice. It had been a joint endeavor of the Inquisition army and the Orlesian one to return them to Val Royeaux. As quickly as Samson and his army had come, they had disappeared.

“They have some means of travel,” Vivienne had said, as Morrigan kept her arms crossed. She had elected to go with the Inquisition – at the Empresses behest, perhaps, but more likely because of her own will. “We would do well to narrow down this method before Skyhold itself is attacked.”

“Would Corypheus be so bold to attack us directly?” Cassandra looked between each of them.

“We don’t know his motives or what he intends to do next,” Cullen said, “We’ve thwarted what we know. We should continue on that path and seek out Samson. He might give us the answers we need.” Alexi sits up in bed. He can feel the warmth of the sun seeping in through the windows, and pulls his knees up to his chest. Skyhold isn’t just the Inquisition. Refugees line the base of the castle, people displaced by war, rifts, demons and all the rest. They find safety and shelter here – and Skyhold is a target.

From the moment they returned, Leliana has had scouts looking for Samson’s base of operations. Tracking red lyrium shipments in the Emprise, intercepting letters in the Emerald Graves. Samson makes himself easy to find. Alexi dresses quickly, shrugging on his shirt, the sweater. Pulling the scarf around his neck, slipping on the robe. Trousers, socks and boots, taking his staff with him as he goes. Bells chime with each step he takes, his hand on the bannister as he walks down the stairs. He knows Boots will make his way to the kitchens, steal more affection from the cooks.

“We’ve located the shrine, Inquisitor,” Leliana says, finding him as he crosses the Great Hall. “There are a few considerations you need to keep in mind before you leave, considering it’s located in Northern Orlais. Cullen has also insisted on coming with you.” Alexi turns the staff in his hands, and the bells chime softly. “I’m not quite sure what he thinks seeing Samson will accomplish, but I hope your presence will allow him to keep his senses.”

“Perhaps Samson will listen to reason,” he says. She sighs heavily. He smiles somewhat, at the sound of it. “It doesn’t hurt to hope.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be realistic, either. I’ll prepare a list of soldiers I think would be best suited for this task. We can discuss it later at the meeting with the others,” she says.

“What about Corypheus’s other general? Do we know anything about her yet?”

“I have a few reports that claim her name is Calpernia. Anything more than that is simple rumor. Once I have something real for you, I’ll let you know,” she says. “I have something for you, from Cassandra.” Alexi blinks, pauses in his walk, turns to face her.

“Oh?” Leliana reaches for one of his hands, and places the book in it. He holds it carefully – a smaller tome, bound in leather. It opens easily, pages turning with no trouble. Well worn, read many times over. “What kind of book is it?”

“One I’m sure both you and Cullen will enjoy,” Leliana says with a slight smile.

“That only makes me worry,” he says. Most of the inner Circle know by now, how Alexi is trying to fill all that he’s missed. The Circle had been nothing but study, books of a certain boring quality. Only a select few know exactly who’s reading them to him. Leliana laughs, pats his arm.

“I’ll see you later,” she says. She goes her own way, while Alexi continues to the stairs up the battlements. Most of Skyhold is lazy at this hour, half still asleep. As he pushes open the door to Cullen’s office, he smiles when he realizes he’s still at his desk. Arms crossed, head laying upon them. The door is shut carefully behind him, distance closed between them quietly. He puts the book on the desk, circles round it to stand beside him.

He puts a hand at his back as he leans over. “Cullen?”

“I’m awake,” is the instant reply, raising his head, rubbing his eyes. Alexi doesn’t see the dark circles, the sickly pale tint. He does feel the imbalance, the drought that seems to surround him. His hand moves upwards, to the nape of Cullen’s neck.

“Is it bad today?” Alexi asks, his fingers circling the soft wisps of hair that curl there. His hand is warm, impossibly so, a fire that burns away some of the ache. His other hand presses against Cullen’s chest, and he leans back in his chair, closes his eyes. He reaches up, his hand wrapping around Alexi’s. Absentmindedly, his thumb brushes over his knuckles.

“No worse than other days,” he says, “nothing to concern yourself with.” He’s come this far. He refuses to allow himself to slip, thanks to a few bad days.

“You can allow me to worry a little bit. It’s no easy thing, what you’re doing,” Alexi says.

“I have Cassandra to tell me if the quality of my work slips,” Cullen says, meaning to reassure him. Alexi’s magic is a subtle thing. Threads that weave around muscle and bone, stitch together whatever might ache. Most of it is in the mind, and it’s there that Alexi’s magic touches most. Softly so, clearing the cobwebs from his thought. Working away the migraine, attempting to soothe an inflamed addiction. They’ve talked about it before, his use of magic for this. It’s a temporary relief. Alexi believes it better than doing nothing.

“It’s not your work I’m concerned about.” Fingers still moving in circles at his nape, other hand tightly held. Cullen opens his eyes, smiles up at Alexi.

“What’s the book for today?” he leans forward, letting go of Alexi’s hand to reach out and pick it up from the desk. Alexi still keeps his other hand at Cullen’s nape.

“I’m not sure,” Alexi says, “Cassandra gave it to Leliana to give it to me.” Cullen flips through the pages and almost instantly, his cheeks color.

“It’s a book of poetry,” he says. Alexi immediately begins to chuckle.

“I’m beginning to think they might be assuming something about us,” he says. The chair scrapes back against wood as Cullen stands, turns to face him.

“I much prefer they have something to talk about than nothing at all,” he says, as Alexi drapes his arms over Cullen’s shoulder, leans forward to kiss him. He can feel the smile on Cullen’s lips, the happy way in which he holds him. It’s so strange. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever felt so wanted. Cullen makes his way out from behind the desk, flipping through the pages.

“Cassandra’s bookmarked one,” he says, laughter light in his voice. Alexi leans against the desk, half sitting on it, and smiles.

“Go on then,” he says. Cullen clears his throat, his ears turning pre-emptively red.

“On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath. It carries the scent of honey suckle, sweet as the lover’s kiss.” As he reads, he paces, glancing up occasionally from the page to look at Alexi. “It brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs and whispered bliss. His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer, which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night.”

Alexi crosses his arms, reaches up, and covers his smile with his fingers. He can’t hide the smile in his cheeks, his eyes. The light from the window frames him, from the curls in his hair, to the cat hair on his robe. Shining on olive skin, shadowing darkened eyes. It’s in the crystals on his staff, the drying flowers, and the bells. Cullen pauses his pacing, stops to simply look at him. “His eyes reflect the heaven’s stars,” Cullen continues after a moment, “the Maker’s light. My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there. Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to light.”

Moving in front of him, closing the book. Cullen’s hand brushes against his cheek, fingers at his jaw, thumb moving over his cheekbone. Eyes half-lidded, looking to his lips. Nose brushes against nose, and they – both startle at the knock on the door. Cullen instantly steps back as he tosses the book onto his desk, and Alexi stands up straight, the staff clenched tightly in his hands. Cullen has a hand at the back of his neck as he moves to the door, opening it.

“What?” He half snaps at the poor recruit.

“Commander,” Alexi says, in a light tone. The recruit looks wide eyed between the two of them. “I’ll see you in the war room later for the briefing.” The briefest touch at his shoulder as he slips past him.

“Inquisitor,” he says, watching him move past the recruit, disappear down the battlements. He makes his way across the courtyard, listening to the sounds from the tavern. It’s already started to get loud, Iron Bull and his Chargers looking for breakfast, no doubt. Cassandra in the distance, eternally practicing her form. The occasional thud of an arrow – but Sera probably isn’t doing it for practice. He pauses inside the Great Hall, and stands at an empty chair.

“May I join you?” he asks.

“Of course,” Varric says. Carver sits on the other side of him, filling his face with food. They’ve been inseparable lately, taking some comfort in shared grief. “What’s on the agenda for his Inquisitorialness today?”

“We’ve tracked down Samson. I’m sure Josephine is rounding up supplies for the journey as we speak. Another war meeting and then they’ll be shoving me out of Skyhold once again,” Alexi says.

“Never a moment’s rest,” Carver says in between bites. Alexi chuckles under his breath.

“And when are you getting out of my hair?” Varric asks. Carver looks at him, faking a distinguished hurt, swiping at the side of his mouth.

“I’m almost done planning my route to Weisshaupt. I’m packed and ready to go. You won’t have to see me ever again,” he says.

“Shit, Junior, you put it like that and I might actually miss you,” he says. All three of them turn at the sound of light chattering at the doorway. Two guards flank someone of a color Alexi doesn’t recognize. She’s made of evergreen, lush and wonder.

“Varric!” she says, her voice like bells as she races forward, throws arms around his neck.

“Daisy?” Varric asks, the shock plain in his voice. “What are you doing here?” Carver says nothing, the fork stilled in his hand, simply staring at her with wide eyes. Alexi tilts his head, doesn’t interrupt the reunion. Merrill finally stops hugging him, stands on her own two feet, a letter in her hands.

“Hawke wrote to me!” Alexi feels everything in him suddenly sink. “She said you needed help with an eluvian! Where is Hawke?” She’s still smiling, looking around the table, while Varric and Carver glance at each other. Suddenly defeated, and Merrill’s smile falters. Holding Hawke’s letter tightly, a white knuckled grasp, and she forces herself to put it on the table. “Varric,” she says as she puts a hand on his shoulder, “where is Hawke?” Alexi fights the urge to flee.

Varric gets up from the chair, pats Merrill’s back. “She’s gone Daisy. She’s gone.” Carver puts his fork down at last, leans back. Looking up at Merrill, meeting her gaze, slowly nodding, confirming the words she doesn’t want to believe.

“Oh Varric,” she says, her bottom lip wavering. She manages to hold herself together for a moment, shoulders tight and raised. After a moment though, she throws herself at Varric, tightly hugging him. He smiles briefly at the warmth of her, pats her back.

“You must have left right as you got her letter, huh?” A wet and furious nod. “Then you just missed mine.”

“I’m so sorry Varric,” she says, the waver in her voice as she hugs him harder. “And Carver!” Detaching herself from Varric, throwing herself at Carver instead. The chair rocks with the force of her assault, but he keeps it steady, and hugs her warmly.

“It’s good to see you, Merrill,” he says. “How’re the others?”

“Well now I don’t know! When I left they were good,” she says. Standing up straight, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Varric is reaching for the letter on the table, opening it slowly. With a fingertip, he traces the familiar scrawl of Hawke’s writing.

“I should go,” Alexi says in a small voice, using the lull in conversation to rise.

“It’s alright kid,” Varric says. “Merrill’s here to help. Hawke was onto something. Said that Corypheus was looking for something ancient and elvhen? An eluvian certainly fits the bill. It would also explain how quickly Samson was able to pull that disappearing act with his army.”

“You must be the Inquisitor. I’m Merrill!” She says, sticking a hand out for him to shake. She keeps it there for a few awkwardly silent moments, until Carver coughs.

“Uh, he’s blind.”

“Dread wolf take me!” She says, snapping her hand back to her side. “I’d completely forgotten, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright, it’s a common mistake,” Alexi says.

“Can I look at the anchor?” Reflexively, Alexi raises his hand. Merrill’s hands are small, cold from making the journey up to Skyhold. She presses and pokes at the edges, her face very near the anchor.

“Wow! You can open holes into the Fade with this? Have you walked through the Fade? What’s it like? Do you have any lingering effects? Did you -”

“Daisy. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to get all your questions in, you just gotta leave room for him to _answer_. There’ll be time for that later. Come on, let’s go see Josephine and see if we can find you a room to stay in,” Varric says, gesturing at her.

“You might want to introduce her to Dagna and Morrigan as well,” Alexi says, as Merrill lets go of his hand. “I’m sure between the three of them, we can figure out our next move.” Merrill follows Varric, the both of them chatting lightly. Carver rubs his eyes.

“That’ll keep Varric busy for a while,” he says.

“Hawke had mentioned she was going to send a letter to someone, but I didn’t think – if I had known I could have told you,” Alexi says, beginning to ramble. Carver shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. Merrill’s a good one to have around. She’s smart. Knows a lot about the ancient elves. I’m glad she’s here. She’ll look after Varric,” he says. Alexi holds his staff tightly. He’d gone hoarse, before, speaking to Varric and Carver. He could have kept the rift open longer, given Hawke some chance to escape. All Varric could tell him was that it wasn’t his fault. Alexi isn’t sure if Varric and Carver realize it wasn’t their fault either.

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”

“Inquisitor,” Carver says with a nod. It’s only a short walk to the gardens. He leans his staff against one of the statues, and it almost seems as though the statue itself is holding it. Kieran regards him curiously, watching Alexi kneel down in the dirt.

“What are you doing?” Kieran asks, bending over, his hands on his knees. A curious soul, Morrigan’s son. Alexi smiles as he surrounds a wilting flower with his hands. Cupping it gently, letting the magic flow through him and into it. Darkened petals become bright, a tired stem becomes strong. “How did you know it was dying?”

“Every living thing has a color,” Alexi says, having already explained his echo to him, “and depending on the strength of that color, I can tell what needs to be healed.”

“I think that those without magic see less than you do,” Kieran tells him.

“We just see differently,” he says. Kieran kneels down completely in the dirt next to him.

“Can you teach me?” he asks.

“I would be happy to.” It’s easy to lose time in the flow of it all. Explaining how to see the life that lurks within all things, how to bolster such things without overwhelming it. Give it to much, and hurry it into death. Do too little, and watch it fade again.

“Kieran, are you bothering the Inquisitor?” Morrigan asks, putting a hand on her sons shoulder.

“Not at all,” Alexi smiles. “He’s an excellent student.”

“That he is, but he’s made you quite late for your meeting,” she says. Alexi dusts off his hands, his knees, rises to his feet.

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“Of course.” A quick retrieval of his staff, speed in his steps as he makes his way to the war room. Outside the door, he hears the low voices of conversation. Pushing open the door, and that all abruptly stops.

“Inquisitor! We were...”

“Eagerly awaiting your presence,” Leliana says, interrupting Cullen, “some of us more than others.” A sly glance over at him, the smile on her lips. Josephine is practically beaming as well, clutching her papers.

“I wasn’t… I mean, I was… We have work to do,” Cullen says.

“Of course.” Leliana leans over the map, places one of her statuettes precisely. “The shrine where Samson has made his base is in the northern most part of Orlais, close to Tevinter. We can guess it’s a relic from the golden days of Tevinter expansion. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that someone like Corypheus knows of its location,” she says.

“I’ve spoken with our contact in the Orlesian forces, and they would be happy to send some soldiers with you,” Josephine says.

“The Inquisition is already stretched thin, we should take up that offer,” Cullen says. Alexi nods in agreement.

“If all goes according to plan, Samson won’t even know that we’ve discovered his location. You can catch him unawares,” Leliana says.

“It will take us a few days to reach the shrine. We’ve gathered supplies for the journey. All that’s left is deciding who of your Inner Circle you’d like to take with you,” Cullen says.

“Cole would be helpful in knowing the truth in whatever Samson could tell us. Dorian might know something more about the shrine, and Cassandra’s shield has never failed,” Alexi says.

“I will let them know, if you wanted to prepare yourself for the journey,” Josephine says. There isn’t much. A small sack of extra clothing, a few extra potions. Alexi sits on his bed, Boots at his side, and he gently scratches between the cat’s ears. Boots purrs contently, and Alexi savors the last touch of a proper bed he’ll have in days.

They take horses, a wagon to carry what they need. Alexi and Cole sit together inside the wagon, and Cole traces letters on Alexi’s palm. “Safe and solid, protecting and proud,” Cole says after Cullen rides by, “he feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.” They avoid Venatori patrols, a few sightings of red Templars. The others take turns, switching from the wagon to a horse. Alexi is the only constant. When Dorian joins him, he makes himself comfortable with his head on Alexi’s lap while he reads to him. Cassandra has her aches soothed, leans against Alexi with her arms crossed.

Cullen sits beside him, and they make quiet conversation. “Does it bother you? What happened at the Winter Palace?” Alexi’s fingers stitch in his robes, and he slowly nods.

“It’s not just the Winter Palace. It’s all of it. Therinfal, Redcliffe, Haven, Adamant, Hawke, the Palace… every bit of fighting we’ve done along the way,” he says as he shakes his head. “There’s never been a time in my life when I wanted to fight. That hasn’t changed. The more we fight, the more people get hurt and my healing can’t save them all.” He turns to Cullen with a pained expression. “I can see their colors _fade_ and I can’t do anything to bring it back. If Corypheus attacks Skyhold, what will happen to the refugees?” 

“We have scouts in every area, and the others are looking for ways to better defend it. Nothing’s going to happen to Skyhold,” he tells him. Cullen reaches out, holds his hand tightly.

“But what if it does?”

“I’m the Commander of the Inquisition. Let me worry about those what ifs.” 

“I’m trying, I just,” Alexi presses a hand against his face, “I keep dreaming about everything going up in flames.”

“It won’t. I promise,” Cullen tells him.

The Orlesian soldiers wait for them very near the shrine. The shrine is some intimidating thing of blackened stone and burning metal. Despite its disrepair, it still stands, mighty and unbowed. Statues of Dumat line the walkways, dragons at every corner. At its edges, the low hum of red lyrium. All know they’ll find more inside. Hurting to touch it with his echo, knowing he must hurt more to fight when they get inside. The gateway is open for them, the courtyard quiet. 

The Inquisition leads the way, footsteps echoing on the floor. They rummage through the makeshift tents, the haphazardly laid structures. “It almost seems abandoned,” one says.

“It most certainly is not. That door is bolted for a reason,” Dorian says, gesturing with his staff toward the shrine proper.

“A trap,” Cassandra says, drawing her sword. “Make ready for what awaits us inside.” Alexi and Dorian stand side by side, and push against the metal of the doors. Groaning hinges, bending what blocks it. The doors blow open, and red Templars scream out. Made of horror and pain, one smashes an arm made of lyrium against the ground, roars bloody at them. There’s nothing left for them to do but fight back. The shrine is filled with them, these monsters no longer mortal. Casting out his echo, pain at the touch, so bright in his vision.

Dots of stars, Dorian casting his magic. Cole flitting about his vision, Cullen and Cassandra leading the charge. Soldiers at the edges, Orlesian and Inquisition alike, beating back the assault of the red Templars. A slice, to the left arm of one of the soldiers, quickly stitched by Alexi’s magic. A barrier to catch an unwatched right. To push back the behemoth that threatens. A constant echo, the flare of pain from the lyrium, and they move forward inch by inch. They leave red Templars in their wake, find no sign of Samson.

Alexi casts out the echo, finds someone he does not expect. In the corner, calmly watching, hands clasped together. The tranquil have always been distinct to him. Their colors are muted, quiet. A pang, to know that the red Templars had brought _tranquil_ with them. Alexi moves to go towards him, but he simply begins to walk away from the noise and the fighting. “Wait, please!” Alexi calls out. He can only chase his back. Cullen notices the sudden shift, Alexi moving away from a safer position. Shield raised, he follows after him, strikes away a red Templar that tries to come near him.

Inside a separate room, the tranquil stops, turns. “Hello Inquisitor,” he says.

“You know me?” Alexi asks, stepping forward. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s Maddox,” Cullen says from behind him, stepping to his side, lowering his sword, “a tranquil that Samson knew.”

“Knows.” The door slams shut hard and heavy behind them, and Samson is lowering the bar across it. Alexi whirls, the staff in his hands. The barrier comes quick and easy, springing from his fingertips, separating the room. Cullen raises his shield, his sword, while Samson laughs. His sword drags along the floor behind him as he paces just outside of the barrier. Maddox walks forward, the knife in his hands, drags Alexi back, the knife at his throat.

“Alexi,” Cullen says in a panic, begins to step towards him. He only stops when Maddox presses the blade harder against his neck, draws a spot of blood.

“Alexi? Not Inquisitor?” Samson’s laughter is raked over coals, hoarse and wheezing. “You’ve always been so damn transparent.”

“Maddox,” Alexi says calmly, “you don’t need to do this.” Samson raises his sword, the red lyrium of it seeping through every vein of metal. The tip sizzles against the barrier, tests its strength. “I’m sorry, but you’ll be fine when you wake up.” It’s easy, to touch inside of Maddox. Any tranquil, really. To find that one string, pull on it slightly. Maddox slumps into unconsciousness, and Alexi catches him before he hits the ground. He lowers him slowly, gently.

Cullen is watching as Samson pricks again and again at the barrier. “Why would you become Corypheus’s general? You are a traitor to the Order. You betrayed everything it stood for!”

“As if you didn’t?”

“Corypheus poisoned the Order and used them to kill thousands! Look at the creatures out there, look at yourself!”

“Templars have always been used. How many were left to rot, like I was, after the Chantry burned away their minds? Piss on it! I follow him so Templars can at least die at their best. I make them believe their pain has purpose. Just like the Chantry does. Right, Commander?”

“It isn’t right,” Cullen says.

“If truly cared for what was right, if you had stood up for what was right sooner, you might have been one of us!” Samson thunders it, pushes the sword in harder. It breaks through the barrier, burning red, the unsettling scream of red lyrium. Alexi grunts as though the sword burns through him instead. Pushing forward with the staff, trying to close the gap. They can hear the shouting on the other side of the door. All the others, trying to break through.

“You don’t care for what’s right. You’ve abandoned your senses, just as you abandoned what it meant to be a Templar,” Cullen tells him.

“You think I’ve forgotten how to be a Templar?” Samson asks, his sword dropping back to his side. He raises his hand, palm flat in Alexi’s direction, and Cullen realizes what he means to do too late. With a flick of his head, he wipes away all magic in the area. The barrier breaks, ripped away. Alexi chokes on a sudden lack of breath, wheezing out the last moment of air from his lungs. He wraps a hand around his own throat, claws at it as though someone else’s is wrapped around it. Stumbling backwards, the staff falling from his hands. Cullen immediately leaves his defensive position to go to him, putting his arm around him.

“You bastard, we just wanted to talk,” Cullen tells him. Samson only laughs.

“Talk? When have you ever been the talking sort? That’s why Meredith loved you so much. Her prize pupil. Always ready for action, never questioned a single order. You bought into her madness. You _shared_ it. Maddox is just _one_ of the mages you didn’t talk about,” Samson says. “Have you told your precious Alexi everything you’ve done? Why you were even sent to Kirkwall in the first place?” 

“Samson –”

“What was it you told that Hawke? The Champion of Kirkwall, right to her face! ‘Mages don’t deserve to be treated like people because they _aren’t_ people’,” he says. It’s an echo of the words the nobles said about the servants. It’s an echo of a statement Alexi had heard a thousand times before. He never thought Cullen would be the one saying it. “What makes this Inquisitor so different, hmm? Why did you let Maddox become tranquil and not him? He’s an apostate! He’s everything you hate.”

“You came to Kirkwall so sure that no mage could be trusted, that all of them were demons waiting to happen. When did that change for you? You didn’t speak up against Meredith until the very end. Until it _suited_ you. This is the same isn’t it – you’re part of the Inquisition because it suits you. I wonder, when the Inquisition was trying to end the war, did you advocate for the mages or for the Templars?” Samson regards him lowly, his words dripping with malice.

“You don’t know anything about it,” Cullen says, voice low. 

“I know you, and a thousand other Templars just like you. The Order first. The mages are just livestock to be culled. Not people. Your words – not mine,” Samson swears it fiercely. Alexi is still choking. On a lack of magic, on Samson’s words. Cullen holds him so tightly, his shield at his back, his sword pointed in Samson’s direction. The door finally breaks, buckles underneath the pressure of Orlesian soldiers, Cassandra’s shoulder.

Cole turns the daggers in his hands, flits through the shadows towards Samson. Cassandra draws his attention, her sword banging against her shield as she charges forward. Dorian takes advantage of the distraction, runs around the edges to Alexi. Taking him from Cullen, urging him forward, “go, I have him.” Alexi welcomes the switch, a fist trembling in Dorian’s cloak. The anchor carries a dull weight, its own protest against the silence. It comes back slowly, pins and needles in his veins, watching as the others fight against Samson.

His sword crashes to the floor, cracking with energy. They drag him to his knees, strip his armor away. They bind him in chains, carry him kicking and screaming to a horse. Alexi goes to Maddox, replaces the string he had pulled. Maddox blinks once, twice, sits up mechanically. “We have lost,” he says, to no one in particular.

“Yes,” Alexi says.

“If you are taking Samson, then I must go with you,” he says. Alexi extends a hand, helps him to his feet.

“Should we really be keeping the two of them so close together?” Dorian asks, as Maddox goes to stand dutifully by Samson’s side.

“It’s fine,” Alexi mumbles, hurries off. Cassandra is directing soldiers to pick apart the shrine, find anything that could be of use. A few hastily burned papers, tools for maintaining Samson’s armor. They pack Samson and Maddox into the wagon. The former Templar is strangely silent, hollow, says nothing even as Alexi sits beside the soldier who guards them. On the journey back, Cassandra, Cole and Dorian still rotate into the wagon to sit, and talk. Cullen does not.

Their arrival back at Skyhold is met with little fanfare. Samson is taken to the dungeons. Maddox goes with Alexi. They sit together at a table near the gardens, and Alexi heals the lyrium burns from his hands. “I wish to stay in the dungeons with Samson,” Maddox says.

“You don’t have to follow him anymore,” Alexi says.

“Samson was cast out of the Order, because of me. Although he was no longer a Templar, he did not forget me. He found me after the destruction of Kirkwall’s Circle. He gave me purpose, when I had none,” he tells him.

“You’re free to do what you want,” is all Alexi can say.

The amount of paperwork waiting in his office is almost overwhelming. Cullen sighs at the sight of it, buries himself in it. He looks up each time someone opens the door, and it’s never the person he wants. When he walks the halls of Skyhold, he might catch a glimpse of Alexi. Only a glimpse. He’s gone before he can call after him. Cullen knows better than to chase, push him. There’s never a right time to go to him. In the first war meeting Leliana calls in days, Alexi doesn’t appear. “Where is the Inquisitor?” Cullen asks. Josephine looks up from her papers, startled. 

“At Caer Oswin, with Cassandra. Didn’t you know?” she asks.

“No, I – no. I didn’t,” Cullen says, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, squeezing it tightly. She and Leliana exchange a glance. Not a single word, a whisper. Gone without seeing him, and his absence squeezes at him. There’s a pile of unread books at his bedside. Ones Alexi had brought, ones they were meant to read through together. Even with the charm under his pillow, Cullen finds that sleep eludes him. His days are emptier, filled with silence. Different from any other time Alexi had left Skyhold.

His migraines worsen with each day. A fog behind his eyelids, muddied by red. Cullen presses a fist against his temples. He can hear it faintly, singing in the drawer of his desk. That little bottle. The smallest stopper. It would be so easy. To make it all go away, to feel the strength of the lyrium. He clutches the key in his hand so hard, it marks his palm. His orders are sluggish, his decisions wavering. He spends time in the courtyard, feeling the weight in his shoulders, the weakness in his body.

Useless.

It’s Cassandra who comes to find him after, when they return. Setting a book down on his desk, staring at it. “All the secrets of the Seekers, and the Templars,” she tells him. “All this time, they knew how to reverse tranquility and kept it hidden.” He takes it from her, begins to flip through the pages.

“This is what you found at Caer Oswin?” he asks, skimming the text.

“Yes. Lord Seeker Lucius was giving the Seekers over to Corypheus. The Seekers are finished. It is impossible to know if any other Seekers still live,” she says. “Alexi says I should rebuild the Order, keeping in mind what I know now. With no secrets.” Cullen slowly closes the book, slides it across the desk towards her. “He has gone to see Maddox, and make the offer of reversing his tranquility.”

He doesn’t make the decision to go to the dungeons lightly. He doesn’t want to trap Alexi – he pauses in the stairwell, listens to the quiet voices. Faintly, over the sound of the waterfall that runs near the dungeons. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“You don’t have to live like this anymore.”

“He means he doesn’t have anything to live for. The Chantry already took away everything from him.” Samson’s rough voice.

“That could change. He could build something new for himself.” Alexi’s softer plea.

“Inquisitor. I am at peace with it,” Maddox says. More voices, indistinguishable, unable to know what they say. Cullen pushes himself away from the wall when Alexi appears in the stairwell. They both hold their breath. It’s Alexi who lets his go first. Resuming his steps, heading up the stairs, moving past Cullen.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me and I,” Cullen says as he begins to walk after him, “I don’t blame you.”

“I’ve been trying to make sense of all the things Samson said at the shrine,” Alexi says. Cullen follows him quietly across the empty courtyard. He stops, just outside the tavern. Light spills onto the grass and cobble from the windows, laughter and conversation seeping through the doorway.

“I thought I could explain,” he says. Alexi says nothing, turns his staff in his hands. The chiming of bells, crystals that bounce against one another. “When I joined the Order, I was first stationed at Ferelden’s Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The Templars – my friends – were slaughtered.” He’s done everything he could never to think of it. “I was tortured, they tried to break my mind and I – how can you be the same person after that?” The slightest frown, the smallest knot between Alexi’s brows.

“I said things – untoward. My feelings had… changed. Everything had become so twisted and I – I said all the things Samson said I did, and worse. Still, I wanted to serve and that’s all that mattered. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight Commander to set me on the right path. I overlooked things that I _knew_ were wrong. My fear of mages she – she used that to her advantage, and I _let_ her. Her fear eventually ended in madness. Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. I spoke up too late. I wanted nothing to do with that life anymore,” Cullen says, rambling, and unable to stop. A hand on his hip, another shaking hand threading through his hair.

“My fear, and my anger blinded me. I’ve tried to put distance between myself and everything that happened. I have tried to be better. Different,” he says.

“When we were deciding whether to ally ourselves with the Templars or the mages, you pushed so badly for the Templars,” Alexi says. “I thought I understood. You were a part of the Order, of course you’d want to save who you could. I could understand that blinding you to the threat of the Venatori, and the time magic. But you never intended for us to go after the mages. Would you have rather we didn’t?”

“I –”

“I had Cassandra read Varric’s book to me. There were parts you skipped. The parts about you,” he says. “It makes sense to me now, why Hawke hated you so much.”

“Alexi,” he says softly, and without thinking, he reaches out, means to take Alexi’s hand in his. Alexi pulls it back quickly, clenches his hand in a fist against his chest.

“I need time to think,” he says.

“Yes. Of course, I – I wanted to give you something. If that’s alright.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out something small. “My brother gave me this coin the day before I left for Templar training. He said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through. I should have died during the Blight, or Kirkwall, or Haven. Yet I made it here. It isn’t much, but I’d like you to have it.”

“I think you should hold onto it,” Alexi says quietly. “Goodnight, Commander.” Alexi turns, pushes on the door to the tavern. Walking inside, the warmth and laughter suddenly cut off by the door closing. Cullen stands alone, in the dark, and puts his face in his hands, doubling over in two.

Iron Bull has been saving a seat for him. Alexi takes it, listens to the Chargers excitedly talk with one another. Laughter and friendship, an arm over their shoulders. Iron Bull laughs with them, until Alexi puts the slightest touch at his arm.

“What’s up?” he asks as he looks over. Alexi turns in his direction, and his smile is pained.

“Do you ever miss being part of the Qun?”

“Shit, yeah, I guess. Sometimes. But I just look at my Charges and all of that goes away,” he says.

“I miss the Circle. Everything made sense there,” Alexi says, twisting his hands in his lap.

“Yeah,” Bull says, putting a hand at his back, “yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/post/146678434099)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


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